#Range Right Tactical Knife

[astralnymphh]

𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬)

summary: your suspicious encounter has given ellie her five minutes and her knife—but can she truly measure insincerity? reader discretion advised: seattle!ellie x fem!reader, angst (with comedic and romantic undertones), reader is a stranger, reader has a sibling, inevitably changes the trajectory of the canon storyline, inherent tensions, interrogation tactics; knife (obviously), drawing blood, smacking, punching, collectively getting beaten to a pulp. ellie has ran into someone who matches her energy, maybe even dominates it. whew. lots to interpret. memo: this came to me in a daydream!!! yay for getting beat up!!! footnotes: word count (4.3k), masterlist, palestine masterpost, read this, proofread by the lovely @caraphernellie!

It is an aching, scathing thing: this world.

In the mornings, the most godless sounds awaken. Salvation takes pitiless dances with self-righteous societies, and the meek have inherited the earth. 

If you have a bounty—an idea of revenge—you must be fain to bleed every happy accident dry of information, and bleed yourself.

“Where's Abby?”

You are a happy accident. Urging for an alibi, your appetite stared down the barrel of several guns. The soldiers of this hospital you sought out on eroding patience were not helpful. If anything, lethal. They seemed guilty of selling out; failing to fulfill their scrap of the bargain, dodging explanations and lily-whiting themselves with some careless, out-of-the-blue, bullshit argument for why the agreement changed, why they acted against the inertia. All these sour months, yet nothing to compensate for time. Just conflict.

You were owed fifteen guns from this deal. Fifteen!

The debate fired in a deep corridor, right above the bowels of the hospital. Some bitch—Nora, you think, plated the verdict first and coldly before making off someplace else. Almost like you weren't really there. Still bleeding for clarity, you had everyone else in the hospital browbeaten, interrogating one after another, interrupting their plans to clear out the place. You used the threats in your mouth and the appetence of your revolver to show them you meant blood and business, simultaneously. Some heads went rolling.

Then, the place got infiltrated, making you an emergent exfiltrator. Like fire in a timber house of innocents, death caught quickly. Gunshots cracked at a singularity. A couple fired, then there would be a pause, muffled commotion, a horrifying scream, and a shallow rain of bullets come again.

It became instantly understood that it was a single person; a party would bring more noise. Frightened seconds became bodies on the floor in minutes, the melody of throats choking on blood padding the halls, and like time in a nutshell, one note of that melody played right outside the room you lurked in.

You recall a muttered echo: “Fucker,” which taunted the loud gurgles of blood, and rang as a sign that it was too late.

Her narrow and thorough eyes had the emptiest and deepest rooms flipped upside without warrant. Not even the silent take-outs, blind-covered windows or the secrecy of your location evaded interest. She craved some of that action.

You interrogated one room of stubborn people, only to be interrogated by a trespassing 'nother. Fucking coincidence, right?

God, and this girl is just terrible at cross-examination! Don't let her in a courthouse, of any quarantine zone. If they exist.

Ever.

It has gone on for a minute now. She continuously asks these redundant questions and tries cheap intimidation tactics her daddy probably demonstrated on several unlucky incidents like yourself—or maybe it's improv. Sure fuckin' sounds like it. And, not to mention, an extravagant amount of profanity that even the devil himself would blush at.

Fingers snap in your face. “Hey,” she barks. The table beside you is one of her foresaid tactics. It gets slammed. “Where is she?” Her wrathful gesture makes you glance only by a virtue of instinct. Clearly, this hand gets all the action.

Simmering reds from all that yelling have curled up her cheeks, painting her in a flit of desperate, pathetic rage. She is a strange clash of auburns and browns. In eerie-black rivers, bleeding up the walls, she is a darling brunette. But in the closeness of light, it washes into a gutsy auburn. Blinding and fiery. Those eyes have you engrossed too, damn: a penetrating, cat's-eye green you could fuck up in the sightline of. Her mother give her those?

Whatever. Why she needed to find this girl, you have no clue. Where this girl in question is—you still have no clue! This is useless. In fact, to her pursuit, you are useless. Files would better serve her mission, which thousands upon thousands sit in this hospital waiting to enlighten the blood-hungry half of the population with information. Surely she knows how to fucking read, right?

Yet, your sun of escape had set indefinitely, predestining you to writhe and mope in this tangle of uncomfortable ropes for however long until she was satisfied—or suffocating you. Fight, fight, and fight all you want; there is no abdication in negotiation.

“Did you ever think to ask the guards before slicing their throats?” You cock your head, sassy, contemptuously, without a care. It's an easy antidote for you to suggest given your mental innocence to the horrors outside that door. The prelude to this tangle of ropes is an interpretation of screams and guzzles—your favorite! “Too late now, though. Oops.”

Annoyance rolls from the pit of her teeth “Oh, my fucking..” She sounds irritable, eager to snap, and she turns her back to you for the sake of her sanity.

There is a faint sound of her fingers, squeezing on the mechanics of her lovely handgun. Maybe, just maybe, she'll knuckle under now; abdicate in the sweetness of another murder? Shut your trap by boring a bullet through it?

“Do you ever quit it with the snark?” She swings back around, hunching arms-crossed.

Nevermind.

You chart your own thoughts for a possible half-genuine, mostly clever answer, eyes rolling up. “Hmm..” Checking if it lives on the ceiling, like a perfect spring apple, ripe and pendant for picking. “Not recently, no.”

That strikes a nerve. “Oh, great,” she bluffs, that empty ink of doubt rich in the short, artificial reply. Certain smilings you often earn from fed-up someones. “Guess I'll have to try harder to get it outta' you, huh?” Her face fades, broadcasting something a little more serious, though those hooded eyes are the least daunting thing.

“Oh, so hard—”

Bam! Nailed right in the cheek. No sign, no second-rounds needed. The faithfulness of four knuckles pulled through your jaw, your teeth. It aches, and your sense of vantage is knocked for a moment, flopping your head back from where she clocked it.

You swish your cheek against the throbbing, staring with provocation. She stares, too. Through the old, grimy light above, you see her conscience emptying out: upper lip snared up, brows pulling to meet a center, heavy breathing. You believe judgment exits through every exhale.

“I saw you in here, rummaging through files and shit. You know something.” Her chin becks to you, foregrounding you as the first pawn of evidence. “Where'd she go?”

“Up my ass, bitch.”

Her mouth flinches at your immature fulmination. Offended, or disgusted. Rigid cords accentuate in her neck. “You smart-mouthed cunt!” she seethes, and her angrily mumbling that leads too smoothly into another blow to the maw, getting all up in your twisted face. “Where?”

You sling back. “Clearly not right in front of you, damn it!” Spitting the blood stilling in the pockets of your gums, you damn her; aim for the tip of her converse. Panting, you bring your eyes up slowly to glare. “Who shit in your rations?”

“We don’t—hmph, I don’t do rations.” 

Throwing a joke put a cork in her incursion, slipping up her words. You have to laugh. Furrows pinch between her brows, then she scans you up and down, face contorting into slow inspiration. They widen, discern; something you said alludes.

What is she thinking?

”Are you FEDRA? Undercover soldier?”

Your smile fades. “What? No.”

She motions to the bodies entrailing the floor. “Then why'd you kill them?”

“Got in my way.”

Her lips press into a line, and she huffs. Appraisal demanded conjectures, and you weren’t giving her anything. Things that may nail the target right in the eye, or miss by a small mark. You came here for one thing and one thing only, and that's none of her business—but, she wants to make it her business. Clothing you in warfare made it psychologically easier to absolve herself.

Two can play at that game. “Are you an undercover soldier?” you spin the question, blood in your mouth stirring a grudge. This situation might fall more into place if tongues point to yes. “Which zone hired you for reparation? Or would that be the Seraph—”

“Not a soldier.” Her interruption is resolute. She holds something harsh in-between the teeth, a stiff rehash, unable glarings. “I'm not FEDRA, I'm not a Scar..” The floor seems to interest her eyes. “Actually, what I am is none of your goddamn business.” She only looks up at you at the end, eyes narrowed.

“Neither am I yours.”

For smart-mouthing, you expect a third kiss of violence to erupt your gums—nostrils, perhaps—and she relents. Silence perverts the room, leaving an uncomfortableness to stretch from her stare. Gulps, blinks, and breaths that invocate. She expects you to give her a thesis, glaring like a hawk. A glare that depicts, “You are my damn business.” without ever having to gorge a throat.

You watch her right fist fumble together, blanking out on the earth-stained nooks. “Just assumed someone so blood-hungry would be an undercover soldier that has it out for rebel militia groups trying to battle authority. Maybe you wanted to snuff out the Firefly legacy? Once and for all?”

The coarse skin of her tattoo looks storied. Covered in things you lack context for.

But are you not self-same?

“Ex-Fireflies are finicky fucking people,” you begin to rasp in the vowels, clearing your throat. “Fuckin' hate them.”

Nothing is said on her end. Nothing of solace, nothing of condemnation, not even a different opinion. She traces all the lines quietly; squints at your lowered face, weighs your scars, conjecturing what your reputation must be to wear wounds like these. They must be gorgeous enough to ignore, because she prowls closer and slips into her back pocket, pulling a switchblade. Mahogany, and storied indeed. Fresh blood, old blood.

You peek up when you hear it flick. “Last chance,” the rigid-lipped girl warns. And like she has experienced an earnest, diabolic and pardoned shift in mind, her eyes look prepared to see you choke. “What's it gonna take?” She would slice you if it meant bleeding the infinite resolve out of you.

Fingertips dance on the handle of it. Pitifully, agitatedly dancing under the shadows. “Reasons, maybe?”

“Yeah? Wanna be like that?” She braces an arm on the chair, caging you, leaning in. Warm, arrowlike words hit you. They smell of breath. “Someone was hunted, tortured and killed, right in his own fucking town. Planned attack, too.” The cold, keen edge of the blade is pressed against your pulse, provoking a swallow through you. Tight in freckled hands, bloodspill is ensured. “That enough for you?”

“Oh,” you chuckle unamusedly. “Revenge doesn't solve shit.”

“Then why the fuck are you here?” The growing pressure of her hand leaves a thin, immaculate cut, no drippage. Your subtle stonewalling escalates the tension in her, and so, she slowly buckles under; teasing the knife with a little taste.

Muted pain hisses from you. “Not revenge,” you plume, showing her your eyes. “Wolves got somebody I know held hostage and is unfairly expending them for their work. They won't let 'em off as agreed.”

Eyes reveal lies.

“Bullshit.”

You disengage from the delicate stinging on your neck, confounded by her. “Okay, and what makes your excuse more plausible?” Either you wear an embittered smile, or it wears you. Her cynicism is almost predictable. “I was owed shit from these assholes.”

“Which assholes?”

Of course, every detail is of the essence. You get her, to a degree; she is enraged justice in the form of a girl, but is overwhelmingly that. Rage. She spreads her pawns inside out and envisages a judging of gospel in their exposed guts. Interpreting the files, the conditions, the realisms of things said. Was that soldier truly vulnerable? Did they die weaponless, fearful, and innocent? Is innocence even a condition, given the crimson in her eyelines?

She looks lost in all the blood.

The temporary break opens to your heavy sigh. “Think her name was Nora.” Lasting throbs from the punches minutes before worsen as you speak. You crinkle your face against them. “'Dunno, don't care. Just want my brother back.”

You cannot tell if your answer brings satisfying insight, hearing only her inhales go in, and out. Knife laying inert, you receive no pain for it, but no freedom from it, either. She opens her mouth a bit, and bloomed breaths fan over you, like a response is meant to come out. Then her bloodied, bottom lip folds in, rubbing against her top, brows set low, and you know the contents of her mind are crafting a narrative.

Measuring your high-stake sincerity.

“Is that enough for you?”

Her eyes are sharp when you ask.

The weight of inflection, the material of fluency. Both are determiners. You, for the past five minutes, have acted a soft and blunt manner in the face of one jury. Maybe facetious, too, but it changes little.

She picks herself up from her wander-faced brainwork, and concentrates outside of her mind. “'Kay,” she drones, cocking her head. “Where is Nora, then?”

You sigh. “Probably upstairs.” The fight for life continues. Behind the chair, your wrists contort quietly for a weak knot. “Or gone. Depends how long you take to untie me.” 

One corner of her lip crooks. “Huh, you really think it's that easy?” Her face compliments the eerie line perfectly. She slides the blade past your collarbone, without pressure, and pierces it into your sleeved arm. Slow torture of twisting. “Tell me where, exactly.”

Gouging torments worse than simple incisions. With cuts, you can leave ugly reminders. But with a debased conscience and an end goal, she hopes to wind the information out clean; create a perpetual torture that loosens your tongue. She does not flinch, does not glance with hesitation while the tip draws a sweet, ugly, crimson vortex above your inner-elbow. Those steady eyes bore other holes into yours. Lingering, reading your pain.

Your windpipes fill with a groan, and you clutch at the bundle of knots behind you. “Fuck!” The pain does torture you. She is exacting in the way that it does. Torturing your skin, your thoughts. It forces a puncture of annoyance in your gut for not having much else to say while she bleeds you for it. You try to fathom her situation at large.

“Fuckin' lucky I haven't slit your throat yet.”

Then, it clicks.

“Come on, where?” Her impatience hits home.

You know where the blind spots are in this situation. Context shines clearly. “It's not just some random guy you're getting revenge for, huh?” Struggling under knifepoint, your words slip out with the violence of a tear. Scratchy, compressed. 

But the gouging technique of her fingers stop, saving you a second.

“What?”

Her face and voice incarnate offense identically. There had to be some nasty reason backing your statement, another round of your clever inaction to distract a sure demise. Yet, it still chokes. She wants to finish this, but you are by far the most thought-provoking victim her switchblade has ever laid infliction to. You can make a girl hesitate pretty damn well; it frustrates her. Makes her culpable, a gilded conscience whispering in low tones to let it back in. Reverting her to one of the many things that Seattle made her find fucking sickening: empathy.

Thinking.

She slaps a band-aid on those exposed nerves, keeping her heart small, and begrudgingly narrows her eyes into confrontational lines. The knife softly listens.

You continue. “Obviously, this someone is special,” attesting brashly, not so formally as a court would mandate. Just loud enough to film over the sound of your binds loosening. “Who goes all this way for somebody they don't share blood with?”

Regardless of how bold, how unoriginal this shot in the dark is, the revenge-high girl drops her lip. She's trying to pin a conceivable falsehood to your words, but it conflicts with the perfection of them; you aren't entirely wrong.

An irritated sigh claws open the air.

Forget it—she isn't looking to be mutual. She didn't chase a rumor to carve sympathy. Histories shall keep to themselves. “So? Don't play fucking stupid with me,” she reproaches you, introducing the pressure of her knife down on your thigh. “If she's gone, you're gonna show me right where she's headed.”

You watch her empty hand reach back. “Then?”

The sounds of paper halt. She frowns at your strange cross-questioning. “Then—I'll let you go.” Her reply is reluctant, so full of an unsure breath. “But only on the condition that you aren't fucking bullshitting me.”

The hand once-empty arcs from her back pocket, unfolding an outdated map of Seattle before your eyes. Damn, does she need an exact time too?

“Where?”

Hence that, the knife eases silence with pain again. There are tense cords on the crest of her palm from pushing it in. You almost absently and sullenly admire the true beauty of the flesh wallowing in contemplation; chances are, you may know too much now, and could cause wounds in her plan if let go. Providing her the intel she thrives for won't save you—it will kill you.

So, while so much as a long wince takes up your throat, you think of something else.

“Come on,” she nags, twining the knife into your kneecap. You counter with a cry, the vulnerable, warm shine threatening to paint your undereyes. “Could be done with this already. Eyes up here.” It crept up so quick.

But before you succumb, the roughness around your wrists becomes a nothingness, and your fingers grasp for light. Reprieve, a pardon to injury; you take it into your own hands.

The scene shifts like rain. Shock jerks her eyes wide when the chair clatters, and you drive her backwards—heels scattering, hands thrashing in a flit of desperation—and her special switchblade is suddenly against her. You swipe it tracelessly, catching her off-guard and cursing. Threatened palms puncture you repeatedly in the shoulders, trying to shove you off as she is slammed into the wall, knocking out the incentive she held so dearly like a candle.

Her hand dives below where you can see, definitely headed for the leather gun holster that clasps her thigh. She struggles to unload it. Before she can even wrap a finger, your reflexes are a step ahead, ridding her of that precious, immediate solution. You bash the damn thing into her nose.

“Fucking cunt!” she shouts with her lip snared down, the raging shape of her teeth evinced. Her hips struggle against you, palms now reaching to eclipse your sockets, both in a desperate fight to recapture her authority. Careful, she might bite!

Everything transpired so quickly. You feel whiplash as you toss the gun, brace her arms and show her precisely what lies ahead—scratching the surface, knife on her pale pulse.

Struggle exists no longer; the weapon buys you surrender. She focuses her lingering energy on catching air, slack under your fingers. 

“Well, shit!” Your chest opens with a degrading laugh, one she abhors. Screw looking at you. “Guess it really was that fucking easy, huh?” You begin a soft dint in her neck with the pricked end, inciting her to swallow a lump.

It does not fall quietly. She cracks open her lips and blood from her nose weeps in. “Please, stop,” she pleads, loud and clear. Instead, she is entrusted meekness as a desperate measure. That flesh you loom could be wool, a startled wool, and she would be a lamb. An innocent condition. Either fits her, since either way, she is tense and looking at the inanimate space behind you. Guiltily, flinchingly.

Only one curiosity will complete you. “Name?”

“Ellie.” It rushes like another life is at stake. Since when is she soft with a heart that can break? Whatever it is, it got her in this pretty predicament. “Why?” she raises, tone wary.

“Harder to kill somebody with a name.” Cute name for a murderer.

Her teary eyes narrow with confliction.

Ellie all but understands you. Your enigmatic nature has brought her to enmity and pity thus far—and on the precipice of murder—but now you're offering complete mercy? That's a hard thing to want to accept. People these days almost prefer, by an all-embracing scale, the venom, the simplicity, and the diabolical origins of the ethos of this apocalypse. Sometimes, it comes easier up and down the throat. Belonging eroded, and this country is a skeletal memory of itself, nothing will endure. Ellie understands that; she was born into it, and so, it is her and that is eternal.

So why you choose to spare her, has her scrunching her nose and pinching those signature frown-brows. Though, in the lurid light of her being that somebody with a name, she appears more strangely relieved, even if death sits at her throat still. Getting her to end this was your why and wherefore. You don’t care, you don’t have the time. So, you let the sun set.

Her eyes quirk up, and meet an equilibrium between her and you. They look dimensional with intrigue, somewhat proportionate to almonds. Gentle, springtime in the middle. “You're not gonna kill me?” Eyes you won't harm.

“No,” you announce it like it is solace, hard-fought. Tucked eyes and no strings attached, you sure are serious about this. “You aren't an issue to my efforts or some soldier telling me to come back tomorrow or to fuck off, so.. yeah.” The switchblade flicks back into the shell. You hold it out to her, and that itself sells the deal. “Congratulations.” A simple resign.

She lets it slip into her palm. Hugs the weight, rolls the wood on the curls of her knuckles. “Hm,” she hums timidly. Feeling it now, eliminating you would have changed nothing. If anything, weighed on her conscience in the dells of nightfall.

But she still lacks information. She needs to get it somewhere, somehow.

Thoughts begin to trickle: if her fingers can do such fragile things as plucking a guitar, should they be considerate?

Should she start now?

After a silent break, and a wipe of her bloodied lip, she decides to try. “Is your brother with them?” Wearing some sympathetic face absent of a smile; you're too preoccupied to notice if she does. “Sounds tough what you're going through.” Yeah, she cares enough to try.

You recess from looting. “The Wolves?” Crouching low.

“Yeah.” Her voice cracks, involuntarily.

God, this girl is a paradox of hypocrisy. First, she doesn't want your sympathy, and now she is a fraying thread of it. Loosened seams all over. You grin at her, rooted tall to the floor several feet away, but you are too in favor of doubt to look grateful now. “Oh, so now it's not bullshit?”

“That was before,” she laughs tentatively, traipsing closer. You leave her fidgeting, the natural gravity of her hand not knowing what to do, where to fall to. Debris crunches under her converse as she stands stock still before you, her stillness an invitation.

Again, she says nothing. Nothing as you aimlessly stare and travel over her little chafings. Waiting on your reply, your movement, your hitches of breath. Hidden languages of the body. There, you would make this mutual, or tell her to fuck off.

Maybe she believes you can benefit her still. Benefit each other.

Yeah, right.

Nothing promising sprouts from what is uncomfortably introduced.

It makes you scoff. “If you’re proposing some sort of win-win deal, then..” You heave briefly from your chest lugging up your backpack as you stand. “I've had my fair share. No thanks.” Telling her to fuck off, cordial as possible.

“Yeah,” she rethinks. “Dumb idea.” 

Seeing her face shift is quite the telling. An easy withdraw. Whatever she wanted to do, it wouldn’t work in the long run.

The steel door is guttural when you push on it. Groaning in the hinges, it instills a tension over your shoulder; she is still back there, reloading her guns, probably watching you. It gets you thinking, your hand hesitating. You may have no clue where to go yourself, but it would snip your thorny curiosities if you knew her destination. You know a small something.

“Check the operations base.”

Her shotgun clocks open. “Operations base?”

“Near the stadium. Think Nora is heading there,” you disclose, to entice, glancing over your shoulder. She needed that. “Be careful though, you’re public enemy number one now.”

She collapses her gaze. “Yup.” Her hatred was safely disposed of, so she takes your concern gently.

After all, you remain strangers. 

“Hope you get where you’re going.” The shotgun locks back in place.

Now is when you say nothing. You leave, without a spontaneous prayer or hope for her future.

Better to forget this ever happened.

“She wasn’t in any of the polaroids.”

Day closes inside the theater. Abdication takes place in the far-back dressing room, where wounds are dressed, and afterthoughts are festering. Ellie thinks restlessly about it.

What were the chances?

Ellie takes the needle into her riven skin without a flinch. The back of her lungs fill into, with long breaths, the tender palm of Dina, who asks, “Did she have information, at least?” as the suture threads through.

“She could've killed me.” Her fingers creep up her neck, feeling at her collarbones. The thought makes her mind turn. “But..”

Dina finishes with a knot on the carnic reminder. “But you're okay,” she conveys her gratitude. To higher powers, to luck, to you—whoever. She collects the hand from her collarbone, shielding her own over and embracing it against Ellie's abdomen. “Scratched up, obviously, but here. Safe.”

The gesture is fragile. Ellie clutches softly at her own stomach, grooving trails of her fingers. She wants to say something, but her mind everlastingly obsesses over your intel. “She said Nora's stationed in their operations base.” Her arm kindly slips from Dina and ravels into her shirt, tossing it over her head. All this bloodshed has given her a one-track mind. “Somewhere west of here, near a stadium, uh—think that's site two on our map.” She stands and smooths the crinkles. “Thanks for the help, babe.”

Dina can only hope well. “Mhm.” But she loathes this metamorphosis. Day after day, it leaves her feeling secondary. “Just be careful tomorrow, okay?” She has to continue physical contact to keep herself above, rising after Ellie. “We're rootin' for you.” Pressing a smile into her warm neck.

It repurposes itself onto her lips. “Yeah, like my groupie?” Certain smiles Ellie tends to forget she can share, and kiss, even if fleetingly. Thought fades all.

Hard to forget what happened.

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[darklordofthesimp]

Anything (König x Reader)

The 1st instalment in the Anything-Verse

Main Masterlist

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Like the characters? Read their fics below!

Sunshine Masterlist || Saint Masterlist

Series Summary:  A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

A/N: I have no idea how we got here

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Forced Proximity || Enemies to ?

Warnings: Graphic description of violence || Graphic description of injury || Graphic language

“You’re a liability.”

The words rang like a church bell. You were never one for petty violence but in that moment, after he’d so calmly said the words, you thought that you just might kill him.

“A liability?” You hissed, glaring at your superior like he’d grown two heads. “I’m a sniper, Sir, not a fucking ninja.”

The captain simply shifted his weight lazily, unfazed by your temper. He’d dealt with it many times throughout the years but it hadn’t bothered him because you weren’t inherently his. You were somebody else’s spitfire, under another unit’s command; but now you were part of the 141 and you needed to learn.

“Come on, Birdy. You know I’m right.”

Birdy.

You had Soap to thank for the name. ‘Snipers and birds both shit on people from above’. It wasn’t creative and honestly you could have thought of one hundred better names to offer, but once Ghost started addressing you by Birdy, it was set in stone.

When you said nothing, he continued.

“You can’t fight your way out of a wet paper bag,” he scoffed, swallowing a snort when your eyes widened. “Sniper’s need to defend themselves too, Birdy. You learnt that the hard way, remember?”

How could you not?

The knife wound had healed but the memory of it had not. Images of the hooded man wedging a blade into your shoulder flickered across your vision. Fists bearing down onto your jaw. Fingers wrapped around your throat.

A chill skittered across your skin.

“So, what’s your suggestion?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

When the corner of Price’s mouth quirked upward, you’d already begun to regret asking.

“Simple, really.” He shrugged, “someone’s gonna train ya.”

Your stomach dropped and a cold shiver traced the length of your spine.

“Who, Sir?” Your voice was barely a whisper. “Ghost’s not here. Everyone’s on leave.”

Price smirked.

“Not everyone.”

___

You felt nauseas.

Anxiety had your stomach in a death grip, and it was all you could do to not throw up. Pacing up and down the gym mats, you tried to cool your nerves.

There was only one person that had remained a complete anomaly to you and now he’d been given literal permission to beat the shit out of you.

Training.

You remembered what they loved to call ‘training’ at your old unit. You’d never been the fastest or the strongest, that was not your job. You were the one who could take make an impossible shot a kilometre away, but that’s not what ‘training’ entailed.

Your body ached at the memory.

There was a small noise by the doorway and your body stiffened. He was letting you know that he was there, his equivalent of a knock.

You both knew that he could have had you on your back whenever he pleased.

“König.” You acknowledged him as confidently as you could, turning to face the beast head on.

The giant stood in the doorway looking like the fucking bogey man himself.

“Birdy,” König inclined his head. Those dark, watchful eyes observed you from beneath his hood, taking in your visage. Heat licked the back of your neck and you began to sweat under his gaze.

He was clad in his usual getup from the waist down, the tactical cargo pants and the hefty boots being his barracks favourite. It was the hoodie that had caught you by surprise, you’d seen it a few times in passing, but up close it rendered you breathless.

“I didn’t realize you were staying with the 141,” you said, swallowing nervously as he stepped into the room, ducking his head to avoid hitting the frame above.

This was a sick, sick joke.

“My transfer was approved,” was the only explanation that he offered you.

You knew, logically, that what had happened between the both of you had been a misunderstanding. It was a communication failure on behalf of the brass that had almost gotten you killed but the idea of working with him, training with him, made your stomach drop.

König’s hands got to work removing his gloves and the memory of those fingers wrapped around your throat made you flinch.

You’d set up a sniper’s nest atop the rooftop, watching the entrance of the building the 141 was infiltrating. They were going to flush out the target and send him running right into your line of fire.

No-one had been informed of KorTac’s involvement.

You’d heard König before you’d seen him, the dismantling of your trip mine giving you enough indication to roll onto your back to investigate. By then, he was already upon you.

You’d kicked the rifle from his hands but that was where your advantage finished. He’d dragged you by your ankles from your weapon, straddling your flailing body as he got to work. The knife he’d brandished stabbed into your flesh violently, and at first, you’d thought he only punched you.

Until the searing hot pain bloomed across your body and blood sprayed across his hood.

Those emerald eyes were wild and hard as he gripped your face over your balaclava. You couldn’t think to react, dizzied by the agony of knife he twisted into your skin. His palm covered the entirety of your features, fingers tight against your temples as he pulled your head forward then smashed it back into the concrete.

You thought your skull had exploded.

Fists ploughed into your jaw but it was as though you were numb now. Finally, his fingers were drawn to your throat, squeezing tightly as he leaned in. The cloth of his hood brushed against your battered body, filling the space between you as his lips pressed against your ear.

“Your fight is finished,” he hissed heatedly. Then König pressed down into your skin.

You don’t remember what happened afterward. You knew that he’d been called off by his chain-of-command just in time to stop himself from ending your life, but that was according to Soap.

You were in a coma for two weeks.

It took you months to recover.

And only once you came back to work, fit to fight and ready to go, had you discovered that König had applied to transfer into the 141 shortly after the incident. KorTac had offered him up to fill in your position while you recovered.

Not only had the bastard nearly killed you but he’d taken your place.

Now that you were back, he would lose his place as a sniper and be back to running with the team on the ground.

König watched you carefully from where he stood.

“You’re my instructor,” you said plainly, stating the obvious. “Price made you my hand-to-hand combat trainer.

“Ironic, isn’t it,” his voice came quietly from beneath the hood, a small snort following in suit.

You would have laughed had you not been so fucking terrified. You were about to take your place back on the team, a position this giant clearly wanted and now he was given the chance to put you back into the hospital with no questions asked.

You wouldn’t be able to do anything against him. König was a mountain of a man, a force to be reckoned with, and while he tried to make himself as disarming as possible it was implausible to hide that frame.

“Did you want to get started?” König asked, leaning his hip against the table beside him. He was so casual for someone who had nearly killed you.

“No,” you said simply.

“Are you not up for this?” König ventured carefully, pushing off the bench and taking a slow step towards you. Your heart thrashed against your ribs at his approaching figure and you forced yourself to stay still. “You still have bruising-“

“That’s what happens when someone shatters your fucking face, cunt,” you snapped, casting your gaze from his. You were hoping that he wouldn’t bring it up, everyone had danced around your condition for so long. No one spoke about how fucking ugly you looked as you tried to recover.

“It was an accident,” his voice was hard, almost bewildered at your sudden aggression. “We both paid the price for someone else’s mistakes.”  

“Don’t talk to me about paying the price, you fucker,” you snapped, shoving against his chest. König yielded a step and it infuriated you even further to know that he’d allowed it. “You got the fucking job you wanted, you got the transfer you wanted, you got the training you wanted. Didn’t you?”

“Yes, but-“

“You wanna know what I got?” You snapped, shoving him harder this time. König’s eyes narrowed and he snatched your wrists, holding them against his ribs to stop your assault. You continued anyway, walking his body backward until his heels hit the wall. “I got put into a fucking coma.”  

König’s gaze softened, his chest heaving beneath your hands. You could feel his heart pounding beneath your fists, you could hear his breaths grow ragged.

“I know,” he murmured, his fingers tightening on your wrists. “I was assigned to watch over your bed for those two weeks."

You stared at him for a long moment, sniffling and gasping for air after your rant. König lowered his head and his grip loosened.

“What I did to you…” he trailed off, unable to meet your gaze. How ugly must you have become that he couldn’t withstand looking at his own handiwork?

You turned around, hiding the hot tears forming along your lashes. You were so fucking ashamed by the terror gripping your throat, embarrassed by how much your image affected you. You hated feeling disgusting. You felt like everyone’s eyes were on you at all times it was suffocating you, they gawked and stared and whispered about how your 'pretty face was ruined.'

You began to understand why people wear masks.

“You ruined me,” you rasped. “And I couldn’t do anything to stop you.”

König was silent from behind you, mulling over your words. You couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed by your outburst. He had stabbed you, shattered your skull, broken your nose and jaw and nearly snapped your neck- he deserved to listen to you yell at him at the very least.

Fingers slid over your shoulders, slowly turning you around to face him. You tugged against his hold half-heartedly, vision swimming beneath never-ending tears.

“Look at me, Birdy.” His voice was soft and pleading, his hand slowly moving to cup your bruised jaw. You froze as he manoeuvred you, forcing you to face him square on. König slowly lowered himself to rest a knee on the ground, leaving him still taller than you but closer to eye level.

With the hand that was free, he reached for his hood. You swallowed nervously as he carefully pulled it from his head, resting the cloth on his upright knee.

Dirty blonde hair lay splayed across his forehead, the length curling by his ears. Dark brows framed the emerald gaze that watched you intently, taking in your visage as you observed him. All of him.

The scars caught your attention.

Winding from his upper lip, across his eye and leaving a line through his brow, the winding length of damaged skin presented itself. There was another scar along the bridge of his nose that travelled across the width of his cheekbone and into his hair.

“Do I…” König trailed off, full lips parting as he mused over his next words. You stared in awe at the innocence of the freckles smattered across his features. “Are you afraid of me?”

You said nothing for a long moment, mesmerized by the features of a man that had haunted your thoughts for months. He’d been the centre of your existence for so long, the reason you ached and the reason you’d bled. König had plagued your every waking moment ever since the incident, and now he knelt before you. He was on his knees baring his vulnerabilities to you, knowing you could destroy him with it.

“Of course,” you whispered; your voice shaky as you met his gaze.

König’s expression became pleading, “then let me teach you how to beat me.”

His thumb lightly caressed your purple cheek, brows furrowed as he took in his handiwork. “Let me pay for what I’ve done by teaching you how to never let it happen again. And when you finally beat me, revenge will be yours and you may do as you wish.”

“Anything I want?” The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them.

A wry, sad smile pulled at the corner of König’s mouth.

“Anything, mein vöglein.”

My little bird.

____

Next Chapter

[tarjapearce]

PLEASEEE MORE OF YPUR MIGUEL ANGST IM BEGGING YPUUU

This is a bit of Mama's side of the aftermath 💔-

Pt. 4

At every step you gave further from the burning mess, the deeper the knife he had plunged with his words buried inside your heart.

He doesn't love you.

Your eyes closed, almost loosing your footing in the process of stair descending.

He's disgusted by you

Mind kept chanting the terrible truths and doubts mostly of your family planted in that little brief time you had shared. A constant and eternal reminder to not come close again.

You had to stop for a minute to catch your breath so your brain could alternate between weeping and breathing.

Fucking Normal

His words still rang in your head, his tone as glacial as a blizzard. But even so, the blizzard felt safer since you would close your eyes to shield yourself from the snow. But how could you shield yourself from his piercing and judging glare? You had no armor against that cause in truth, you never felt needing it whenever you were with him.

He had disarmed you bit by bit, stashing your emotional armor behind in a vault only he knew the combination of, cause he made sure you'd never need it again, but now, you were left bare before him. Stripped, bare and shunned.

Was this one of his tactics? To make you feel loved, cared for and needed, to then just discard you?

He never loved you

Nausea clawed at your throat as the anxiety drilled and forced itself into your brain and guts.

You went home in a cab.

---

"Sweetie? W-What's wrong? You ok?"

Jess' words only reopened the wounds, fresh blood oozing from them as you clung to her and sobbed onto her shoulder as soon as she opened her apartment door.

"What happened, babe?"

You just hugged her as your breakdown spilled from the seams, unable to hold it anymore.

"M-Miguel..." Your throat choked as you tried to wipe your tears.

"He never... He doesn't..." You tried to hold your breath and voice steady so you could properly talk. But none of it was happening.

"He doesn't love me" You blurted and Jessica's eyes went wide.

"What are you talking about? He lo-"

"H-He thinks I'm just like my family, Jess..."

Your throat constricted again and she held you tightly.

"I know you warned me about him"

Jessica shook her head as she caressed your hair and sighed upon hearing your mourning heart speaking for you.

"I should've listened"

"I'm here with you, Sweetheart."

"He knows our of everyone that I'd never hurt him..."

"I know you wouldn't. You don't have to justify yourself to me, babe. He better apologizes. He needs to"

Your head shook.

"He doesn't want me. I can't be with someone that doesn't want me."

"C'mon, don't say that. We both know you love him"

"That's exactly the problem Jess! I know I love him, and right now I wish I didn't cause he hurt me with his stupid thinking that I'd judge him! He-" You sniffed and gave a shaky breath, "How can I trust him when he said I was just like them knowing that I don't get along with my family?! That I barely talk to them!" More sniffling came as Jess pulled the tissue box for you.

"You... you should've seen the way he looked at me."

You had to breath in between choked sobs to make coherence of your words.

"It hurt and still hurts so bad..."

Jessica's lips pursed in a straight line as she saw the few belongings you had left on Miguel's with you. Your necklace gone too. A necklace she had helped Miguel pick for you, to officially ask you to date him.

Shit.

Despite the anger coursing through her veins like molten lava, she knew that the only thing she could do for you was to be there as a friend. She'd deal with him later. Right now, all she could do was to drive you home, provide you tissues and a shoulder to cry upon, and help you to get the remnants of his presence out of your apartment. Our of your system. Out of your life.

Each item had a little of his essence still etched to them. A couple of hoodies that smelled like him. Faded cinammon and leather like with a tiny tone of your lavender detergent. A pair of his sunglasses that had his greasy fingertips imprinted on the black glass, and the t-shirt you had shared your body for the first time with him.

A t shirt you had begged him to keep, due the meaningful moment shared with him. As corny as he thought it was, he allowed you to keep it, after praising how good your thighs looked when you wore it.

And now, it was tossed to the box of mementos, ready to be sent back to their righ owner.

---

"Is bad..."

"You think!?" Sarcasm dripped, laced with venom on her voice. Jessica sighed and rubbed her temples as Peter was probably rubbing his face.

"Look, I'll see what I can do, ok?"

"You're not understanding, Peter. She just packed in his stuff, she wasn't wearing that necklace. And she was definitely having an anxiety attack when she came to me. I don't..."

She had to take a sharp inhale of air before speaking again

"I give two shits he's our friend. But he crossed the line. I'll give you his things for you to hand them over to him."

"Right. Right."

Peter sighed once more.

"I swear... Sometimes Miguel just..."

"He's acting like an ass, stop coddling him!"

"Im not. He's had it rough."

"And so his now ex girlfriend! And she doesn't go around, treating people like shit just cause he's unable to properly manage and sort his emotions!."

Peter just rose his brows in surprise at her words.

"W-What happened anyways?"

"They went to meet her family. Things didn't go well, I think, and they had a fight back home. She said that he told her that her family believes him a freak. You know how he is regarding that."

"Shoot... I'll try to talk some sense into him. If I find him that is. You know he just... isolates."

Jessica rolled her eyes.

"Let me know if anything happens. She's asleep now. Had to give her some sleep gummies. Babe needs a break."

"Of course. Nights then."

Peter hung up and Jess pulled the box on the living room. As much as he wanted to give Miguel a piece of her mind, she knew this was something he had to solve on his own.

At least, for tonight your broken heart could find some fake and momentary peace. Jessica just stared at your sleeping form and then at one of your pictures with him in your mirror. A small strip of kissing booth pictures, something you had probably bribed him to try.

A soft yet genuine smile on Miguel's face as you kissed his cheek with a loving grin.

"Dammit, Miguel"

Jessica Mumbled, unsure of trespassing your intimate bubble and hide the picture away. She just closed your door and let you rest instead.

[lenacosse]

HEEYYY, thankyou so much i saw ur post. so basically reader and twins work together on occasion and she gets on really well w them and is basically another version of tan but when tan and reader get a long they are like partners in crime but on this mission they need an extra person so this new girl is constantly flirting with tan the whole misiion and reader is like really jealous and lemon his just having a wonderful time observing this play out and laughing his arse off asking reader if shes alright and stuff. tan is just completely oblivious and finds the new girl kind of annoying. Hope you can write this :))

stake out

(im so glad you saw the post! i hope this is okay, it didn’t really pan out as I thought it would but you can be the judge of that)

pairing: tangerine x reader (sort of)

cw: strong language and violence

word count: 3,991

————————————————————————

You phone rang, Tangerine and Lemon were outside waiting for you. Dragging your suitcase with you, you locked your house and made your way to the car. You took a minute to admire the car, Tangerine had a thing for sport cars. Usually you didn’t care much for them but you had to admit this one was nice. Lemon got out and put your suitcase into the boot.

“Thank you Lemon, what a gentleman you are.” You smile and get into the car. “Nice car.”

“All my cars are nice.” Tangerine replies. “I forgot to tell you, we needed a fourth member for this task. So we’re on our way to pick up Stacey.”

“Stacey? Who the fuck is Stacey,” you queried.

“Our fourth member,” remarked Tangerine . In his usual flat tone.

“I had no idea.” You roll your eyes and settle into your seat.

The car pulled up to Stacey’s place, it was a fancy apartment complex Tangerine blared the horn practically making you jump out of your seat. A few minutes later you see a gorgeous blonde woman walk out of the apartment complex with a bunch of luggage, you watch her walk towards the car, her hips swaying as she walked. You and Lemon shared a glance through the mirror and once again he got out of the car, putting her luggage into the boot.

The car door opens and you’re hit with an overwhelmingly sweet perfume, you clear your throat and look over at her. She looks you up and down then gasps when she sees Tangerine.

“Oh my goddess!” Her shrill voice squeaks.

“What?” Tangerine turns around to look at her, you sit there flicking your eyes back and fourth between them watching the painful encounter.

“Oh nothing,” she winks. You involuntarily pulled a face of absolutely disgust, you didn’t have to look at Tangerine to know how unimpressed he was by this.

Lemon gets back into the car and Tangerine starts talking about the mission, telling everyone his tactics and game plan. Stacey nods along to everything he says whilst twirling her hair in her fingers, you watch her absolutely baffled at the idea of her being in this career field. How the fuck was she supposed to kill someone?

“You didn’t introduce us.” Lemon says to Tangerine.

Tangerine sighs. “You do it then, fuck sake,”

Lemon turns to Stacey and you in the backseat. “Im Lemon, this is Tangerine you already know that and this is (Y/N).”

“Cute name.” Stacey smiles.

“Thank you! It’s-” she cuts you off.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“…right.” You scoff and look out the window, for the entirety of the journey you listen to her flirting with Tangerine. However you can’t tell if he’s not picking up on it or it’s just that he doesn’t care, regardless it was doing your head in and taking everything in you not to stick a knife in her neck.

You arrive at the hotel and check in, you are almost taken back by how fancy it was, you felt extremely out of place in your clothes. So you made Lemon come with you to buy fancier clothes.

“How did you forget to tell me to bring pristine shit?” You laugh whilst looking through a rack of dresses for your size.

“I told Tangerine to sort everything.” Lemon shows you a dress, you screw your face up at it.

“Wayyyy too many ruffles fucking hell.” You find the dress in your size and put it into your basket. “He didn’t forget to tell Stacey did he?” You scoff.

Lemon squints his eyes at you. “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous?! Me? Jealous?! What?! Absolutely not! Fuck me youre on something.” For the rest of the shopping trip you go on about how there’s absolutely no way you’re jealous and that Lemon is crazy. He thinks it’s the funniest thing ever, you however are not so pleased.

———————————————————————

“Hey (Y/N)? Is Tan single?” Stacey asks batting her eyelashes at you. You two were in your shared hotel room, Tangerine and Lemon were staying in the room next to you.

“Why?” You question. For some reason your stomach drops as she asks. Especially now that she was saying the nickname you always call him. But no. You weren’t jealous, absolutely not.

“Can you not see the chemistry we have? I mean god I’m already picking out our children’s names. I’m thinking Beatrice for a girl and Christopher for a boy.”

You give her a strange look. “Tangerine would not like those names.”

She walks up to you, hand on her hip and tries to assert the power in the situation, you cross your arms and look at her.

“You are a real bitch. You’re just jealous of me and Tangerine. I’m telling you by the end of this mission he’ll want me.”

“I don’t care at all.” You scoff and grab your clothes. You get changed into your new dress, it’s a classic black dress that compliments your figure perfectly.

You, Tangerine, Lemon and Stacey head down to dinner and sign in with your fake names. You sit opposite Tangerine and next to Lemon.

“I was thinking we need to solidify our cover stories,” you say taking a sip of your drink.

“What were you thinking?” Tangerine asks, one thing you appreciated about him was the way he didn’t diminish your intelligence like most men did who work this job. They find it wild that a woman could be smart enough to pull off an elaborated plan, but that was ballsy considering you thought you were pretty good.

“We’re here celebrating an engagement between two of us-“

“Me and Tangerines engagement!” Stacey cuts you off. You pinch the bridge of your nose and Lemon starts laughing beside you, you kick his ankle under the table and Stacey looks confused. “What?”

“Yeah. What? You two are children and if you don’t stop you’ll get us sussed out.” Tangerine tuts as he finishes off his drink.

“(Y/N) is just being-“ Lemon starts.

You elbow him so hard in the ribs that he flinches. “Shut the fuck up.” The food comes and you guys start eating, as you’re eating you notice a group of men bunch together and head towards the kitchen. Luckily your seat gives you a clear view of them and you watch them walk into the kitchen.

“Tangerine. Play along with this.” You say, he agrees, you pull a hair from your head and set it on your plate then and you stand up acting disgusted. “Filthy! Absolutely disgusting.”

Soon a waitress comes over, worried at your behaviour. “Im sorry is everything okay over here?”

“No everything is not okay. My fiancée has a hair in her food, this is ridiculous.” Tangerine stands up, you can’t help the smug look that falls onto your face watching Stacey look offended. You hear Lemon snickering beside you, you glare intensely at him then you smile sweetly at Stacey and turn to the waitress.

“I want to speak to your chef.” You demand. And so the waitress leads the way, Tangerine walks with you. His hand resting on your lower back. You felt your stomach doing flips as he placed his hand there.

In the kitchen Tangerine talks with the Chef as you scan your eyes around the kitchen looking for where these men could have gone. That’s until you see a man fully suited walk out of the stock room. Tangerine and you walk out of the kitchen after clearing everything up.

“Fiancée huh?” You tease.

“Improvisation,” Tan replies, a smirk apparent on his face.

“Stacey won’t be happy.” You playfully tut.

“What do you mean?” Tangerine furrows his brows.

You laugh until you realise he’s being serious. “My god you’re blind.”

You reach your table as you said that. “No tell me what do you mean?” He asks.

“Tell you what?” Stacey interferes.

“None of your business Tracey.” You suck your teeth.

“My name is-“

“Jesus christ! No one cares.” You snare.

Lemon can’t hide his laugh and you turn to him, shaking your head. “Seriously what is up with you today?” You ask.

“I think you have to ask yourself that question (Y/N).” Lemon replies

“You know what I think? I think you’re all being fucking weird today.” Tangerine grumbled.

You all finish your food. However you feel your stomach churning as Stacey starts sliding her hand up Tangerines arm, she whispers something in his ear and he doesn’t seem fazed by it at all. You didn’t realise you were gripping your glass until it shatters in your hand.

“Fuck.” You gasp, you look at your hand. You had glass shards stuck in your hand as the blood dripped onto the white table cloth.

“Tan you and Stacey sort the bill, we’ll go sort (Y/N)’s hand.” Lemon suggests. You all agree and you follow Lemon back to his and Tangerines room.

Upon walking in your hit with the familiar scent of Tangerines cologne, a scent you found yourself drawn to. You didn’t quite understand why, but anytime you smelt something similar your heart would skip a beat. But you didn’t care about him like that.

“What is up with you?” Lemon asks as he removes the glass from your palm, you hiss in pain.

“Nothing.” You grunt.

“Im not stupid. I’ve know you for three years now and never have I ever seen you so jealous.”

“Im not jealous!” You practically shout, the pain from your hand didn’t help the matter. This time Lemon didn’t laugh, he just sighed as he cleaned your hand.

“You know if you have feelings for Tangerine that’s okay. I don’t know why you’re so reluctant to admit that.”

“Okay maybe I find him attractive but I don’t have feelings.” You mumble.

“There we go one step closer to the truth. If we’re speaking truth I’ll admit these next few days are going to be the most entertaining days ever. I can’t wait.”

“Oh yeah this is so entertaining.” You scoff, “you’ve no idea how fucking annoying she is, and to make things worse I share room with her.”

“I do know because Tangerine was pissed off earlier because she wouldn’t shut up the entire car ride.”

You find yourself smiling once Lemon said that, you felt a little bit more relaxed. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad. Lemon finishes fixing your hand, he stitched it and bandaged it up. He told you he was used to doing this, especially considering Tangerine is usually always fighting with someone. That was the polar difference between the two men, Lemon was calm but Tangerine was not, once that man gets pissed off he just goes off on a rampage. You’ve witnessed this multiple times, however it didn’t scare you. You secretly found it hot. But that fact you would carry to your grave.

Soon after Tangerine and Stacey come back and you guys sit to come up with a game plan for the next day. You agreed to spilt into pairs of two, you and Tangerine, Lemon and Stacey. Poor Lemon was all you could think. Anyways, you all would go to breakfast, but you would leave the table to go to the bathroom. But really you’d try get into the Casino area. If you got in successfully you were to look for whatever you could find that would identify the men you needed to assassinate. You’ll then come back, after breakfast Tangerine and Lemon would go inquire about said Casino, Lemon said there was a code name for the Casino and that was how you’d get in. And at dinner time Stacey and Lemon would go there, play a game of poker or whatever. Whilst you and Tangerine get dinner. Then once Lemon and Stacey had identified the men you would go in and kill them. Then on the third day you guys can use the spa.

———————————————————————

You get up from the breakfast table and head towards the bathroom. Since the restaurant at the hotel is a separate part there’s bathrooms there for customers. And thankfully they were opposite the kitchen, you walk up the hall and slowly open the kitchen door. You peep your head in to see only one man in there who’s back is to the door, you take your time sneaking in and walk into the stock room. At first you think you’re wrong until you look around and realise the back wall is fake, you find the hatch and walk in. And just as you thought there is the casino, you were actually surprised to see it as a legitimate full blown casino. Using the flash of your phone you look around. Quickly you come across what you assume to be guest book, it had ten names of it, three of which matched up to the names you were given by the man who hired you. He had said there were eight members to assassin and three members whose identities he knew. You take a picture and sneak back out again.

You sit at the table with a smug smirk on your face. “Well ask me how it went!”

“How did it go, love?” Tangerine chuckled. Your cheeks flushed as he said that, it wasn’t a new thing to hear. Tangerine called all women love, but for some reason it had you internally screaming.

“Amazing. I found a guestbook with ten names on it.”

“It’s not like you had much to do.” Stacey scoffed. “Tangerine here..” she squeezes his arm “found the room in the first place.”

“No, (Y/N) did. It was her that got us into the kitchen and it was her that spotted the room.”

Stacey let go of his arm and finished her food silently. You glare at her with a smug look on your face and crossed your arms. She looked pissed off, but you weren’t bothered or intimidated in the slightest. And of course Lemon was laughing into his hands.

After breakfast the four of you go to you and Stacey’s hotel room. That was after Tangerine and Lemon had gotten access cards to the Casino, everything was going smoothly. You and Tangerine were debating whether or not killing these men would be hard, you said it wouldn’t, Tangerine said it would considering we’re massively outnumbered. It was all lighthearted until Stacey buts in.

“It won’t be hard Tan don’t worry darling. I know you’ll protect me.” You hide your hands in your face to control the unbearable second hand embarrassment you just got. You peak over at Lemon through your fingers, hes laughing into his hand and Tangerine just awkwardly laughs to what she has to say. This makes her get confident and sit beside him leaning into him to the point there wasn’t even a slither between them.

You felt your blood boil as you bit your lip. She was seriously getting on your nerves. But there was nothing you could do about it, she was important to the mission and therefore you had no choice but to suck it up. The next few hours until dinner were complete utter hell. Genuinely awful. Stacey seems to be getting worse by the minute, anytime Tan just tolerated her god awful flirting it encouraged her to get more and more into it. You had to leave the room once she playfully punched his arm.

You lean against the wall feeling nothing but pure envy. You weren’t envious that Tangerine didn’t care to flirt back, but you were envious that she had the courage. Admitting you’re jealous in turn made you aware that you did in fact feel something for Tan. It wasn’t simple, and you knew loving someone like him wouldn’t be straightforward. It’s not like he’s the most loving man to walk the planet, so you wouldn’t even be guaranteed commitment, and you also acknowledged that you couldnt watch him leave for work and not worry sick. But that wasn’t the point. The point was you had been too proud and now some brainless fuck is there all over him, all over your Tan.

“Everything okay?” Lemons voice pulls you from your thoughts.

“Yeah, just can’t sit through that. It’s painfully embarrassing.”

Lemon laughs in agreement, he also looked as traumatised as you. You couldn’t understand how Tangerine couldn’t see right through it, it surprised you how such a smart man could be so fucking blind. On that thought the door opens and Tangerine walks out.

“What are you two doing. Planning some fucking dance party?”

“Exactly what we’re doing.” You respond. Tangerine shakes his head.

“Seriously though what are you doing?”

“Talking about your girlfriend.” You respond.

“My girlfriend?” Tangerine pulls a puzzled expression. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Fuck me you’re so stupid.” You put a hand to your forehead. “Do you not see how badly she wants to fuck you?”

“Jealous?” Tangerine raises his brows.

“…no.”

“She’s a proper diesel.” Lemon adds.

“What did I fucking tell you? Hm?” Tangerine sighs, Lemon shrugs in response. “No fucking Thomas talk for fuck sake.” Tangerine throws his arms up in exasperation. You and Lemon share a side glance, someone wasn’t happy.

———————————————————————

You strap you knife to your thigh as you readjust your skirt. You fix your outfit and reapply your lipstick, just as you do that you get a knock on the door. You open the door to see Tangerine, you smile and step aside to let him in. He walks in and sits on the foot of your bed.

“Just let me get my shoes on.” You say, you slip your shoes on and grab your bag.

“You brush up well.” Tangerine teases.

“Can’t say the same for you,” you taunt him as you both walk out the door.

You walk down to dinner together, you arms linked. You couldn’t help but smile the entire way there, it felt stupid to be so into him but at this point there was no denying it you just thanked your lucky stars that you weren’t around Stacey. Poor Lemon you thought, you wondered what they would even be talking out. You two arrive at the restaurant and like a true gentleman Tangerine pulls your chair out for you, you can’t help but laugh and he even cracks a smile.

“Aren’t you a joy.” You tease.

“Only the best for my fiancée.”

“Everything but a ring,” you tut, he rolls his eyes at you and you get halfway through your meal when Lemon sends you the code.

“Come on. Lemon wants us,” you both gather your things and walk towards the kitchen.

Getting in this time is much easier considering Tangerine knows the code, the chef is more than happy to welcome you two to the casino. The smell of cigars and whiskey hit you like a brick, not pleasant at all. You hold onto Tangerines arm and you walk to the Poker table. You sit across from Lemon and Stacey, on your right are two guys and on Tan’s left is another pair of men. You start to play a game and you’re surprised to see Tangerine is good at this, or at least that’s what you thought considering you’d never played poker before and had absolutely no idea what to do. So you let him do it all. Tangerine gives the indication and all four of you stand and go behind a guy. You lean down and whisper into his ear.

“What’s your name?” Your breath cool against the warmth his skin radiates. He tells you his name, and hum contently in response then slice his jugular. Killing him instantly. You wipe the blood that you got onto your hand on his suit jacket. The other three also killed their men, and without drawing attention to anyone else in the room. There were another five guys.

“(Y/N) go to those two, show them your tits or something.” Tangerine says, pointing to the men sitting at the jackpot slots.

“Oh how charming are you.” You scoff and make your way over to the men. You sit in between them and like the creeps they were they seemed not to mind at all. You leaned into the guy on your left, “what’s your name?” Another one on the list, “and yours?” You ask the guy on your right. Again on the list. “Great!” You smile.

You listen to them mansplain the odds of winning and how gambolling was a thrill. You nodded along, batting your eyes at them. That was until you killed them both. You walk to Tangerine, he killed the seventh guy. Only one left on the list, but you had to kill the other man there of course. You hear some struggling and look over your shoulder to see Stacey being choked up against the wall. You sigh and go over there, you floor the man who had her up against the wall. Straddle his chest and slit his throat.

Lemon takes care of the remaining man and you all walk out untouched. You liked jobs like that, easy and non-problematic plus you were getting paid a fuck ton for this. The four of you went back to the men’s room with a celebratory bottle of champagne.

“Wait.. how won’t we get caught?” Stacey asks, you sigh as you’ve explained this four times already. Apparently two glasses of champagne has her incoherent.

“For the fifth and final time. Our names were not on the guest book. Only one man’s name was. Of fucking course he’s going to be blamed for this.” You snap. This made her cry. She tried to get reassurance off of Tangerine but he didn’t even respond to her wails. Ten minutes into her diva meltdown she walks out of the room and into her own. You could cry in relief.

“Thank fuck.” Tangerine remarks. You look at him with an eyebrow raised.

“Thought she wasn’t so bad?”

“Changed my mind, she’s a fucking nightmare.”

“A true diesel.”

“Whatever makes you happy.” You reply to Lemon.

The three of you finish the bottle and spend the next hour talking, mainly ripping into Stacey but not just. Eventually you left their room and went to bed, Stacey was already asleep.

———————————————————————

Tangerines car pulls up outside your place and you get out of the car. This time instead of Lemon helping you with your stuff Tan does. He gets your stuff out of the boot and walks you to your door.

“Thank you Tan.” You smile as you unlock the door.

“I’ll set your stuff inside.” He walks in with you and sets your suitcase on the marble floor.

“So Stacey..?”

“Stacey what?”

“Are you following up with it or?”

“…are you having a fucking laugh?”

You roll your eyes in response, a grin cracking at your lips. “She’s not really your type anyways.”

“Yeah? What’s my type love.” Tan smirks.

“You need someone like yourself, someone who’s not over the top and annoying.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm.” You look down at the ground as you bite back a smile.

Tangerines hand lifts your chin then all of a sudden he’s grabbing your hips and then his lips are on yours, passionately kissing you. You slide a hand into his hair as you open your mouth, his tongue enters your mouth, fighting your own for dominance. You tug on his hair causing him to bite your lip, you groan as he pulls you closer. The sound of the car horn blaring startles you and you pull back. You let out an airy laugh as his hands release your waist.

“You should go.”

“Yeah, Lemon must be pissed.”

“Alright. Bye Tan.”

“Bye love.”

He walks out the door and you take a moment to stand there and process what just happened. You weren’t sure what this meant for you both but you could only hope it would turn into something, and your hoping came true.

[inbabylontheywept]

Like Sharks

Scip was a brilliant engineer, a visionary, but even he struggled to comprehend the scale of the wreckage in front of him.

A single human ship. One. It had taken three of their eight super carriers and an amazing amount of luck to take it down.

Tip to tail, it was more than fifteen kilometers long. The crew space barely held five pilots.

The rest was just engine.

He’d been given as much background as the council itself had. He’d seen the battle footage. This abomination was bigger than their largest station, but it had still danced around the battlefield with all the grace of dust in the wind. If its weapon systems were fully operational, there would be no one left to speak of it. The fact that it had done all of this with nothing but short range PDC was terrifying. In ship on ship combat, it was like chasing down a sniper just to gut him with a knife.

Then repeating it, three times in a row.

Intellectually, he knew the ship was dead. People had already scoured the main cabin, pulled all of the frozen corpses out. He knew that. But deep down, he couldn’t truly believe it. There was a persistent hum that he could still hear emanating out from the craft, the muffled roar of the gravitational anomaly trapped in the engine. He’d been told that he’d be able to hear it the entire time he was within seven light seconds of the wreck, even in pure vacuum. It wasn’t air making the hum, it was space time itself, rippling as the caged beast pluck, pluck, plucked away from inside its gaol. He shuddered, imagining those ripples traveling out to pluck, pluck, pluck away at his ear.

“That’s how they’ve been doing it, you know.”

He turned around to look at the man who’d spoken. Elj? He was one of the few survivors of the battle. Everyone in the carriers was dead, and fewer than half of the people left stranded in their fighters made it long enough for the rescue craft to arrive.

Scip raised an eyebrow. Doing what?

“Getting around our lines. We’ve been blocking off all the hyperspace lanes between wormholes. Patrolling the infrastructure. We thought they were sneaking around us somehow.”

Elf nodded towards the wreck.

“No sneaking. Just… moving. They don’t rip their way through the void like we do. They swim in it.”

Scip shrugged mutely. He knew. That much had already been given to him. The knowledge was changing the upper brasses tactics, but not by much. It just wasn’t possible to guard choke points anymore. There weren’t any. The humans had designed their ships so that they could attack at any time, in any place, and leave without anyone knowing where they went. They’d built their ships like sharks, and even looking at it, even having it in front of him, he didn’t think he’d be able to figure out how to defend against them.

He spoke abruptly, clearing thick silence from the air.

"You know we're fucked, right?"

Elj laughed, and laughed, and laughed. When the mirth subsided, he put a warm hand on Scip's shoulder.

"Aye. But it's good to hear it from you too."

[justyaraya]

COD OC: Trudy "Jay" Saidler

Name: Trudy Saidler

Nikename: Jay

Date of birth: June 01, 1992

Age: 24 (at the time of the events in 2016)

Place of birth: Liberec, Czech Republic🇨🇿

Citizenship: Czech🇨🇿

Nationality: English 🇬🇧

Rank: Sergeant

Specialty: Infantryman

Unit: TF - 141

Family/Relationships

Mother: Adele Saidler (Hofmann) 🇬🇧

Father: Philip Saidler 🇬🇧

Love Interest: Gary "Roach" Sanderson🇬🇧💕

Reference/appearance

Trudy on the day she arrived at Credenhill

Parameters

Hair: brown with light strands

Eyes: grey

Pigmentation on the body: freckles

Tattoo: on the left arm

Scars: scratches on the right and left arm, a bullet wound in the left shoulder, suture marks on the right side at the rib level, bullet wounds in the abdomen, cartilage injury of the right ear

Height: 170 cm

Weight: 60 kg

Body type: normal

Equipment

Armored vest: warrior "plates" assault systems

M4A1 assault rifle with a grenade launcher

M14 EBR sniper rifle with silencer for long-range elimination and, if necessary, to cover the group

Pistols: M9 and USP.45

Cold steel: Alpha S D2 knife Tactical Knife and Custom Steel Machete D2 Machete Etsy Knife

Personality

Trudy is a young girl with sociability and good nature. Her attitude towards people depends on how they treat her: if they show a positive attitude towards her, she is a little stubborn. Even so, Trudy is not so trusting, so she does not immediately open up to the interlocutor. Trudy sometimes experiences moments that can cause irritation. And in such cases, she can flare up, allowing her emotions to come out. However, she tries to control her emotions so as not to show them to other people. But Trudy's weakest side is her worries. Everything that she experiences inside herself, she tries to hide from others.

Fears

🔥Pyrophobia🔥is a phobia consisting in a constant, irrational, obsessive, panic fear of fire, fires; an obsessive fear of burning alive, getting burned, or losing property as a result of a fire. (in one of the missions, she almost burned herself in the room in which she was locked, losing consciousness)

Biography

Trudy's parents live in the Czech Republic for most of their lives, they have successfully established their lives in another country, and we can say they have lived in it for most of their lives, and did not want to return to England. Adele Saidler (Hofmann) has opened her own atelier in Liberec, where they now live. The woman is engaged in custom tailoring, previously she was specialized in sewing military uniforms. Philip Saidler is a former infantryman, retired for health reasons, retired, but he helps his wife in the atelier, delivering sewing materials. He also earns a living on the outskirts of the city, but there is no information about his place of work. Before Trudy, they had a son, Evan Saidler [date of birth unknown, died as a teenager, cause of death unknown]. The couple suffered a hard loss, and were very worried about their daughter, who knows about her late brother.

Trudy's childhood, like that of ordinary children, was no different from them. She also had her own hobbies, which her parents reacted positively to, and supported their daughter in every possible way, most importantly. The girl was actively engaged in dancing from the age of 12, from which she developed flexibility, there were even performances on behalf of the school. She also loved to help her mother in the atelier, more often looked after the counter, and thus engaged in needlework, she could also sew some clothes with jewelry. In addition to dancing, Trudy also had hobbies, which she does not mention.

During her student years, Trudy met a girl who was 1 year younger than her, Linda Kovac (Czech). She was always an inconspicuous gray mouse, but Trudy became friends with her on the first day they met, and spent more and more time together. Thanks to her, Linda began to gain self-confidence and even changed her style in order not to fall into the gray mass and stand out somehow. Saidler never sought to attract attention, preferring to wear comfortable and not too bright clothes, and studied like all ordinary students. She needed Czech to learn, so even at preschool age she learned this language, English is considered the main one.

There have been mistakes in Trudy's life, one of them has undermined people's trust. As a student, a guy was in love with her, and he sought her attention in every possible way. The student's infatuation, yes, did not last long. This guy dated her for a joke, enjoyed her trust. After receiving her education, Trudy left Liberec and went to England. After living there for some time, she went to Credenhill, where the selection for group 141 was held. During the trip, Trudy heard other recruits talking about this group, and who is in it, quite big names sounded from the mouths of the guys, which made her interested. Arriving at their base, Trudy did not expect to see the members of the 141 group live. At the time, Captain McTavish was in charge of the selection, and he took up her training in order to make Saidler an experienced fighter. As a rookie, she was sent for additional training to improve her skills and adapt to work in group 141. During her stay at the base, Trudy met Roach, a young sergeant whom she saw on the day of her arrival. At first, things didn't go very well due to distrust, so we gradually communicated. Jay showed a special interest in Roach as a person and wanted to get to know him better, and thus she awakened trust in him. Roach also showed interest in the girl and communicated with her even from a distance. Trudy was very afraid of attachment to people, and hid her sympathy until the last moment, Roach had the same feelings for her. They gradually showed warm feelings for each other.

Participation

Jay began his service under the command of Captain McTavish, took his first part in the Hunting mission, where the goal was to catch Alejandro Rojas, worked in a group with Roach. In the future, she participated in assaults at certain points, provided cover, engaged in inconspicuous liquidation

The history of the creation of the OC

In 2011, I played with COD Modern warfare 2 for the first time. This game has left vivid moments in my memory, from joyful to sad, my favorite mission is "Rock Climber". At that moment, the first character appeared in my head. Since I couldn't draw at the age of 9, I was building a plot in my head. There is an important point, this is the date when I started playing and when I came up with Trudy. This is June 1, 2011, and this date is also Trudy's date of birth.

In her first version, there was no first or last name, I just called her "Emersan", this call sign is taken from another game that I also actively played. As for her appearance, Trudy looked different, not like she does now. In 2018, I visually sketched her portrait, hoping for my memory. Based on this, I decided to change her appearance, and also attached my old works. As time went on, I always wanted to add something, it seemed to me that Trudy was too simple. Although yes, she really was like that. Then, during the redrawing, I already gave her a name. Her name was Trudy "Emersan" Sombra. She later became Jay, the new surname is Saidler. Trudy's redesigns didn't last long, so I changed it again by drawing new references. You can see that she has hardly changed since 2019, there are small changes on her face – freckles and hair color have become darker. Next comes the tattoo. It was a difficult choice, I came up with the first tattoo myself, then I made another, more complex one. The final version was drawn in 2023, and received a reference

Trudy in 2011 to 2022

[the-guilty-writer]

Everywhere

Request from anon: You asked for requests for Morgan and i shall deliver! i love that man so much, he is too underrated. 

How about Morgan with a reader who is trying to hide/push trough a work injury? maybe reader doesnt even realise how bad their injure really is untill he points it out? 

bonus points if reader nearly faints :))

Derek Morgan x GN!platonic!reader

Summary: Reader tries to push through a work injury, only to have it hit them at one of the worst times.

A/N: more blurb length, but oh well. Was gonna make it fluffy and it ended up being angsty, but oh well again. 

CW: Spitballs, reader gets stabbed, reader and Morgan are both wearing guns, Morgan uses his, reader almost faints (bonus points)

---

When you applied to the FBI Academy, you were well aware of what you were signing up for - not just the 20 weeks of intensive training, but the job that would come after. You thought your first job as a S.W.A.T. agent would be the most dangerous, but when you joined the BAU a few years later, you realized there was a whole world of hurt out there you hadn’t seen.

When you entered the unsubs house, you’d been prepared for many things: a hand-to-hand take down, a knife, even a gun to be pointed towards your face. What you hadn’t been prepared for was a spit bill.

Yep. It was a little round wad of chewed up paper that did you in. The unsub managed to land it right in your eye, catching you off guard. Then they moved in with an expected attack and you found yourself with a knife in your shoulder, on your dominant side, no less.

That was months ago. You were finally allowed back in the field after being cleared by two different doctors and a physical therapist. The most recent cases hadn’t been heavy on the tactical side, and the team made sure to put you in the “easiest” position possible. You were hardly having to take painkillers. All seemed well.

It wasn’t usual for the team to be on a case for more than three or four days at a time, but it happened, and after spending your fifth night on a bad hotel mattress, you admitted (but only to yourself) that the pain in your shoulder was more intense than usual. As the day went on, it only intensified, and you didn’t want to cloud your brain with medication.

“You okay?” Morgan asked, when you climbed into the passenger seat of the SUV. Hotch had tasked the two of you with interviewing a potential witness.

“Of course,” you said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Morgan blinked. “You’re opening doors with your better shoulders and you winced when you got into the car,” he said.

“Just a little sore,” you replied.

Morgan didn’t believe you for a second, but he let it go.

---

The last thing you expected when Morgan pulled over to park in front of the witness’s house was to see the unsub making a run for it down the street.

“Morgan!” you pointed to the man running down the street. The surge of adrenaline triggered the instinct of raising your bad arm. Pain radiated from the site of your injury, around your back, and into your spine. You tried best not to let it show on your face.

“I see him,” Morgan replied. He whipped the SUV onto the front lawn. The sudden movement of the car caused the agony to spread further through your body.

Still, you didn’t hesitate to jump out of the car, adding another impact to the injury. When Morgan sprinted down the sidewalk, you followed him. Every movement of your arm built a silent scream in your chest. The force of your feet hitting the pavement as you ran amplified the sensation. The sidewalk came to a corner, and you reached towards the holster on your hip, only to see black as you tried to wrap your fingers around the grip.

Your body had enough. Weakened knees crumbled and you staggered down to the pavement. Ever exhausted lungs heaved and gasped as vocal chords that were suppressing howls of hurt strained to stay silent. Your fingers were spread wide to keep you steady, palms pressed bloody on the rough cement to keep you upright. Three shots rang through the air and echoed in your ears long after the sounds should have been gone.

“Hey,” Morgan’s voice broke through the noise. Gentle hands supported you onto your knees. “Hey, look at me.”

Somehow you gathered the strength to look at him. “Tell me where it hurts.”

“The unsub-”

“Tell me,” Morgan cut you off, “where it hurts.”

Your heart stopped for a moment. The knot in your throat unraveled. Tears spilled from your eyes. You collapsed into strong, protective arms. 

“Everywhere.” You only had the strength to whisper. “It hurts everywhere.”

[ellaa-writes]

once again I should be working on other projects but here I am (idk why I'm having a hard time writing part 2 to the Roommate fic) but have this instead. (not proof read)

Cw: Enemy Ghost, kidnapping, dubcon/noncon. 18+, MDNI.

It was a simple mission, get in and get out. It was all going as planned until you hit a wall and the security got tripped. Forcing you to abandon your goal, jumping out the 2nd story window onto the snow covered ground below. You were on a solo mission into enemy territory.

You were running, zig zagging through the trees. Too bad it was the dead of winter, no shrub for cover. Your own tactical gear white as your surroundings, giving you a bit of warmth and protection. You could hear the sound of barking and yelling fading off in the distance the further you ran into the woods.

Well that was a fail, not entirely. You retrieved about 60% of the data you were sent to get. That's better than nothing you kept telling yourself. You were mindless running through the dense forest, roughly in the direction of the rendezvous point you hoped. Digging out your tracker from the front pocket of your coat, slowly your pace to try and get a reading.

A shot rang through the trees, and bullet hitting the tree next to your head, wood splinters ricocheting around you. Fuck. Sniper. You thought, picking up your pace again. Just your fucking luck, another shot rang through has the bullet hit the ground in front of you, nearly missing your right leg.

Hiding behind a tree to catch your breath and bearings. You need another plan, with a sniper on your ass it will almost be impossible to make it to the clearing were a unmarked van is waiting. Your tracker not picking up a signal so you were running blind. Poking your head out to try and catch a sight of the sniper.

They were about 100 ft back, perched up on a fall down tree. Covered in white camo, hard to spot but the reflection on the scope caught your eye. Big, who every they were. Just as you ducked your head back and loud bang and another bullet lodged into the tree right where you head was. They are aiming to kill.

Using the tree as leverage you pushed off it, running diagonal from your original path. Only a few feet into running you could hear twigs snapping behind you. The sound of fast approaching footsteps, leaping over a log you changed your direction again. Weaving in and around different trees, you cranked your head behind you which was a mistake. The sniper hotnon your trail, bigger than you originally assumed.

Your foot caught on a rock causing you to lurch forward just as the forest floor disappeared beneath you, down a steep hill. All you could do is brace for impact, hands wrapped around your head as you first hit the ground. Knocking the air from your lungs, the force of your fall making you violently tumble down the hill. Hitting rocks and branches all the way down, finally coming to a stop when your back landed against a tree.

He came to stand at the top of the hill, looking down at you. He was thick, from his calves all the way up to his head. One big mother fucker, you thought, the sniper hung across his back. You tried to get up but damn did you hurt, the tumble down the hill really fucked you up. The behemoth of a man came sliding down just as you made a few decent steps away from the embankment. All he had to do was push you a bit with the butt of the sniper, making you teetering over on your unsteady feet. Collapsing to the ground in a heep, your hand rested along your knife, still ready to but up a fight.

You could hear his heavy breathing has his feet came to stop beside you, one military issued boot dug itself into your back, pushing you further into the frozen ground beneath you. This was your chance, you unsheathed your knife and swung out, connecting across his lower calf. Cursing out he kicked the side of your ribs, the force sending you onto your back in anguish. His other foot stomping down on the hand that held the knife, crushing it underneath his force. Your scream ripped through the silent forest, disturbing the birds and squirrels.

He dropped down, picking up your blood stained knife, tossing it off into the distance. He straddled your hips, gripping your neck as you struggled against him. Still kicking and trashing, trying to fight his heavy weight off of you. The sudden feeling of his hard crotch grinding against you halted all further movements.

"Pathetic!" he spat out at you, his face obscured by a skull mask. His voice was husky, and accented... British. His hands were around you throat, a firm grip but not choking, just yet. A warning, he seaye his hips into your stomach again. The drag of his thick cock protruding into you, panic settling into your bones. "Thought you'd put up more of a fight." he spoke again, flexing his hands around your throat a bit. Making you suck in a deep breath, anticipating his next move. "Fuck you" you spat up at him, bearing your teeth. His palm connected with your cheek, your head snapping to the side. "Cute." he mocked.

With all your force you brought your knee up and against his back at the same time your elbow connected with his jaw. Sending him off of you to the side, flipping over onto your knees you tried to get up but was stopped when his hand gripped your ankle. You kicked back hitting something, managing to scramble away and onto your feet again.

You can hear him close behind you, you can't out run him the voice in your head spoke up. Before you could come up a with a plan you were thrown to the ground again, the sniper plowing into your back. Knocking you to the floor, holding you down my the back on the neck as you heard him pull out something from his pocket. The sound of ripping fabric and the cold air hitting your ass. He ran his knife along the back of your pants, exposing yourself to him. He tried to buck him off again but it only causes the knife to sink into the meaty flesh of your thigh, drawing blood. He snickered behind you, mocking you. "Get the fuck off! " you yelled. "Mother fucker!" you tried kicking him again but to no avail.

Yanking down the scraps of your tatical pants, his knee found its way between your thighs, pushing them further apart. "Behave, then maybe I won't damage you too much." he teased from behind you. A hard smack against the roundness of your ass, making you hiss out. This can't be happening, you were prepared for anything but not this. "Answer this and I'll let you live. Who sent you?" the masked man asked. "Fuck you!" you yelled again which earned another smack to your ass. "Bastard!" you screeched. "Fine we'll do this the hard way." he told you.

You could hear him fumble with his belt, the zipper of his pants being yanked down as he fished his hard, leaking cock out. Slapping it against your ass a bit before he spit on his hands and shoved them into your pussy. "Wait!" you screamed out but it was too late. Another hiss and curse, he was being too rough but not like he cared. "Fuckin' tight." he was talking to himself, more spit and another thrust he got two thick digits into you. Pumping in and out, stretching out your poor hole. "Names Ghost, I want to hear you scream it while I fuck this tight cunt." he gruffed from behind.

It was generous of him really, he didn't need to. He could have just shoved his thick cock right in but the sudden intrusion caused a stream of slick to ooze out of your pussy and onto his fingers. Bringing them to his lips for a taste, humming in approval. He took ahold of your hips, yanking them back so he could get better access. You tried to squirm away but the feeling of a cold blade against your neck froze your movements.

Clenching your eyes closed, praying to whoever was listening. You could feel him lining himself up, the hand that held the knife to your neck now at the side of your face, still threatening. He snapped his hips forward, a gutural groan leaving his mouth and you bit down on your hand to stop the scream caught in your throat. He didn't let up, bullying his thick cock into your tight cunt, his head battering against your sore cervix. So deep inside of you, you swear you could feel it in your throat.

The knife disappeared from your view, he once again held your neck down, forcing your face into the snow covered dirt. Struggling to breath, inhaling mouthfuls of the dirty cold earth. He used it as leverage has he pummeled inside of you, his veiny cock scraping along your drenched silky folds. You couldn't believe you were getting wet, the sound of your slick echoing around you. His muffled grunts, your own whimpering drowned out by the squelching of your soaked pussy.

You felt incredible to him, so tight already. The way your velvet walls clung to his shaft, sucking him in further into your heat. Adjusting his knees to pound into you even deeper, you were holding back your moans but he didn't care. This wasn't for you, no not even close. Ignoring your aching clit, the slap of his hips against you ass, jiggling just for him. He squeezed tighter around your neck, a gasp leaving your throat and your pussy clenching around him tighter. He sped of his thrusts, really pushing his dick has hard and deep into you. Choking on a sob as a shooting pain shot across your lower stomach. It felt like he was punching right through you.

Lifting your head up just a bit, he slammed it back down into the ground. "Fuck!" your pussy clenching around him more, he knew you were a freak. A pain slut, getting off to her own torment. Ghosts rhythm began to falter, sloppy. Feeling his orgasm bubbling to the surface, picking up more speed as he thrusted into you. Chasing his high, burying his cock so deep, his cum drowning into your poor pussy. Giving a few lazy pumps before he pulled himself from your heat, hand still on your neck as he tucked himself away. Watching has his verile cum began oozing out, using his mud covered fingers to shovel it back in.

Standing up from your back, foot between your shoulder blades he talked into his radio. "Objective secured, met you in 5."

The skull face yanked you up by your hair, your ruined pants and underwear still bunched up around your knees. He used his grip on you to walk you forward, a small dirt road was only a few feet ahead of you. An armoured vehicle parked to the side. The back door swung open as a man sporting Mohawk jumped out, holding it open. Ghost shoved you in while the other man slapped him on the back.

"Got her all stretched out for us, huh Lt." both men filed into the vechile, slamming the door closed.

[starandcloud]

Strongest

Cardan Greenbriar x Y/N

TW: Mentions of intent to murder,

The Cruel Prince Mainlist

Mainlist

You were a strong-headed girl. You rarely bit your tongue but... for one person you would. Cardan. You always bit your tongue around his family... until tonight that is.

You tolerated few things. You could tolerate shitty things being said about you. About your hair. About your body. About your voice. About your clothes. About you.

But you would never. Tolerate someone talking down on Cardan.

"It's not that hard to not be a disgrace Cardan. There's plenty of good Faerie girls here, and you chose a hu-" "Shut. The. FUCK UP!"

Your voice rang clear through the hall as you stood up. The chair clattered to the floor as you stood, the hall falling quiet as you did. You shook as you tried to take a deep breath.

"Love... Please sit down Petal..."

Cardan's voice was gentle as he reached for your hand. You swatted his hand away as you glared directly as his eldest brother, Balekin.

"You keep your filthy fucking mouth shut. You don't have a fucking place to speak in our relationship."

Balekin's brow arched as he watched his younger brother watch you in concern.

"I'm sorry you don't get your dick sucked enough so you're a fucking cunt? But if you EVER. Talk about your brother, my boyfriend, like that again?"

A cunning smirk crossed your face as you tilted your head, your nose scrunched up as you smiled. A signature move of yours, which Cardan knew better than to interject now. He looked down at his lap and took a deep breath. Reminding himself that you knew how to defend yourself, and you were a vicious little bitch when it came to him. He knew better than to try to interject, but he did anyways.

"I think we should go-" "Sit your pretty ass back down Cardan." "Yes Ma'am."

Cardan said, going quiet as you gripped a steak knife in your hand.

"What will a little pathetic human like you do?"

Flipping it through your fingers and stabbed it into the old oak table.

"I'll fucking kill you Balekin."

A smirk danced over Cardan's lips, he finally caught on to your tactic.

"Fae are powerless against mortals that know their name, right Balekin? So maybe, just fucking maybe, you'll watch your fucking tongue Balekin."

Each time his name left your lips, Balekin physically winced. All attention was on you as your smirk receded. You looked down at Cardan and smiled softly.

"Le's go, I wanna get coffee and my favorite author just published a new book Baby." "I'm coming Petal."

Cardan said as he stood up. Your heels clicked against the marble as you walked, Cardan followed. His hand gently resting on your waist as he kept you stable. Heels were not your thing.

Hours later, the two of you were in a random field. You were in an oversized sweater, which just to happened to be Cardan's, and a pair of leggings. Cardan's arm was under your head as you listened to him talk about the constellations, his voice was soft and soothing as you relaxed.

"You know, Petal... What you did today was really ballsy..."

Cardan said, making you roll onto him. One leg on either side of him as you gently cupped his face.

"He was talking down to you, I don't tolerate that... You're my baby... I'll kill for you..."

You said, your eyes gently rested on his coal black one's. One of your hands ended up in his curly black hair, making him physically relax under you.

"I'd do anything you'd ask... Without your pretty little Glamour..."

You said, gently booping his nose before cupping his face again and kissing him.

[tvckerwash]

thoughts on wash's fighting style and his position in pfl because I can (utc because it's really long lol):

wash is very unique among the freelancers for a variety of reasons, one is that he doesn't specialize in one specific area of anything, he's a jack of all trades who is able to fill in for other freelancers if necessary. for example in s9 when york was supposed to be unavailable for lock picking/infiltration duty, carolina immediately went to wash (and we are ignoring that york is not shown to be good at lock picking!) if she trusted wash to fill in for their specialist in one area, I feel it's not a stretch to imagine that he can do so in other areas as well.

need a snipper but north and wyoming aren't available? wash can cover. need someone to get into the enemies' computer systems in place of ct, south, or york? wash can cover. need someone for stealth or reconnaissance in place of florida? wash can cover. etc etc.

wash's combat style reflects that jack of all trades, master of none thing very well too, as the way that he fights is very grounded and pragmatic when compared to the rest of the freelancers. a lot of people like to portray wash as less skilled than the other freelancers, but in truth I believe that wash being able to keep up and compete with the other freelancers despite his lack of dramatic flare is a show of just how competent and skilled of a soldier he is. wash is so good at doing what he does that he doesn't need all that extra bullshit to get the job done. sure, he might not look as Cool and SexyTM as the others while doing it, but completing the mission and surviving to live another day takes precedence over all else.

another way of looking at it is that wash fights in the same way that the odst's do, that is to say that he fights like a human who cannot plow his way through the battlefield in the same way the spartans can. wash's style of fighting is one that employs careful planning and targeted hit and run tactics—this is most obvious in recovery one and s6 whenever he's fighting against the meta.

I also feel it's important to note that wash is not a cqc fighter, he can handle himself if he gets into a cqc situations but his primary weapon is the battle rifle—which is a mid/long range weapon. if I'm being honest wash's way of fighting makes waaaaaaaaay more sense if you look at him not as someone who is trained to primarily fight against other humans, but as someone who is trained to fight against 8ft 2 ton aliens with plasma weapons that can slice through the hulls of UNSC battle cruisers (ships designed to travel through space!!!) like a hot knife cuts through butter and have the technology to raze entire planets to the ground in a matter of minutes.

I also personally believe that wash has the most military experience out of all the freelancers right behind florida, wyoming, and maine (who I hc as a spartan iii). we know that wash did his basic training in the leonis minoris system (a canonical halo system) and that system had two of the three planets glassed by the covenant in 2537, and wash directly references these events in the washed hands interview in the fan guide and the way he says it implies that he likely completed his basic training that same year. now I have some grievances with the timeline given in the book when it comes to the events depicted in the freelancer saga because it's just kinda weird, but everything prior to that bit is actually fine (though I hate the way that they decide to number the timeline lmao).

now in halo canon the human/covenant war ended in 2552, and according to the timeline in the rvb fan guide that was 1 year after alpha was sent to blood gulch. project freelancer is first cleared for funding 7 years BBG (before blood gulch), and recruits the 50 freelancers 5 years BBG. doing some math we can determine that pfl was cleared for funding in the year 2544, and the freelancers are recruited for pfl in 2546. so assuming wash finished his basic training in 2537 that would mean that he was in the military for 9 years before he joined pfl, and while wash is addressed as a corporal (e-4) in the washed hands interview he was most likely demoted to that after he was court martialed, and he was possibly going to be dishonorably discharged from the military because of his disorderly conduct.

using the current standards used by the us marine corps when it comes to rank progression, wash was most likely a sergeant (e-5) who was very close to being promoted to a staff sergeant (e-6). wash as a sergeant would've essentially been the assistant manager/co-leader of the platoon he was in while his staff sergeant was the manager/leader, and that would explain why he was able to even get into an argument with his CO in the first place. I believe wash held a similar position in pfl, as it's kind of implied that he did some management stuff in pfl (talking with internals/upper brass, him feeling comfortable with openly questioning carolina about whether york should be allowed on the sarcophagus heist, and of course he shows the ability to direct and somewhat lead south in recovery one, and him leading church, caboose, and the reds in s6, and him taking charge of the meta in s8).

even if wash wasn't a sergeant as a corporal he would've been in a position to be the leader of a fire team, so basically wash isn't some rookie who had no clue wtf he was doing as many in the fandom like to characterize him; he is an experienced and battle hardened soldier by the time he joins pfl no matter how you look at it.

to put all of that into context, carolina is born 29 years BBG, which would be 2522. so during pfl she's in the 24-28 range and she wouldn't have joined the military until 2540. I actually personally head canon that wash is the same age as carolina, but that he illegally enlisted at 15 because of a crappy home life, but ignoring my head canon and assuming that he joined the military at 18 instead, he would've been born in 2519.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

how would konig react to reader that cheated…with rando or ghost…(I LIVE FOR ANGST AND CHAOs SRRY)

Anon 😭🥲 You're paying for my therapy ok...?

I don't normally do angst of this level because cheating imagines break my heart. But I guess yandere König is yet again an exception.

TW/CW: EVERYTHING? Seriously, proceed with caution. Heavy angst, murder, suicidal thoughts, broken König

First, there would be total breakdown.

I imagine this kind of scenario would happen when reader has had enough of König's shenanigans and would seek something more normal and sane outside this relationship. Perhaps she finds out she simply can't do this with König anymore, perhaps it was a gradual falling out of love/falling for someone else?

But when she tells him, yeah: mental breakdown. I think this might be one of those few rare things, or the only thing, that would make König cry. But he wouldn't do that in front of reader, no: he would slowly turn to stone as he's being told the news and then he would leave.

Our man would storm out in a silent rage and go somewhere private (his room). His breathing would get out of control, he would pace around and shake from rage, try to cry… but no tears would come. Then he would take his sturdiest knife and punch a wall with it until his hand hurts. He would shout until he barely has a voice left, think about going to the range, think about killing someone, anyone, right this second, not even the one she cheated him with, just the first person he sees in the hall.

A few hot tears would finally come in between the shouting, his knife would be ruined, his fist would be bleeding after he threw the blade away and started punching the wall with his hand instead.

After an hour or so, he would come back and simply ask "Why?" over and over again. He cannot understand why she would throw away the connection that they had. She is the woman who changed his life, she is his everything, they were meant to be.

Then he would leave again, this time to kill whoever reader cheated him with. König would never physically hurt reader, but he would demand to know who the person in question is. She wouldn't get rid of him until he has that information.

Long story short, it would be an absolute shitshow! If and when she broke up with him after that (König would never break up with her, even after she cheated on him), he would eternally yearn for her. She would be the object of his dreams and fantasies, something beautiful and pure and true he had for a while and then lost to someone better. Even killing the man wouldn't help with his pain, because the fact still stands that she wanted someone else than him. Yet again, he wasn't enough.

He would have a lot of suicidal thoughts, and he might voice them to reader (both an actual cry for help and a manipulation tactic to get her back). I think König would be a completely broken man after that, and if reader would want to have anything to do with him, try to continue and mend their relationship, he would be willing to do so... But he would never, ever recover, and his pain and delusions would reach a point where he would want to practically lock her up and tuck her somewhere safe. The tender, gentle aspects of sex would turn into bleak possessiveness, even cruelty, and he might ask reader which positions she and that other man made love, how often, did she like it… And why he wasn't good enough. It would be hell for both of them.

The lack of trust would grow insurmountable and, combined with König's possessiveness (born of deep insecurity), it would be impossible to live a life even remotely close to normal after that.

[whoismissriley]

Adore You - Fanfic.

SUMMARY: The life of the Captain of Task Force 1-4-1 has always been a mystery. Even for his closest friends and teammates. He alone carries the loneliness in the middle of the night and the stormy memories of the past that make him sink into a sea of Scotch Whisky. However, there is a small light that appears from time to time around him. A girl, of course, who makes him feel like she’s in her twenties when she’s around, she’s light and smiling and full of life. She is one of the best Sergeants in the unit and the best in hand-to-hand combat. John is secretive, even with what she makes him feel. But she doesn’t give up, to get his attention, again and again… and again. And in the midst of all his darkness, let her love him… and make him stop feeling

Warnings: This story is rated +18 Has explicit violence, obscenity, do not read if you do not agree with this. AGE DIFFERENCE, the protagonist will have a significant age difference with John (28/39). HISTORY, will not follow the course of the game nor its history in it.

This is my first time translating something, so sorry for the mistakes.

«"What’s a grumpy captain?" she smiled giving him a push with the shoulder.

"I’m not… grumpy" he looked at her seriously "maybe just a little" she laughed softly and he couldn’t help but do it, she was so… cute.»

Chapter 1

THE LOUD SOUND OF THE HELICOPTERS was for Leah almost the same as an orgasmic sensation. Perhaps the same sensation he felt when he brandished a knife into the flesh of his enemy and saw their lost eyes as his short life ended.

Her companions called her Angel of Death. Because she was as beautiful as she was dangerous.

At first, in her first years of service after Laswell had inducted her into the private SAS group commanded by Task Force Captain John Price, she did not like the nickname. Not when Soap said it just as John Price was hovering nearby. She didn't like that he saw her as a violent or too brutal woman.

But he ended up getting used to it.

The first years working with them were intense. Getting used to being a companion of men seemed like a difficult task to perform, but both her espionage ability and her perfect hand-to-hand combat were abilities that Laswell believed were necessary to integrate into Price's group.

Soap was tactical and brute, brute force for the most part. Ghost was skilled in long-range shooting, including melee weapons. He could throw a knife meters away from an enemy and stick it right in the middle of their damn pupil.

Leah had learned from him in all that time and managed to add to her list one good thing that she did the most and Ghost Riley was proud of his student.

Gaz, it was brutal and dirty. His hands were not very meticulous on missions, he always left too obvious traces, but he was fast and more agile than Ghost and Soap.

Leah saw how the group worked, Soap and Ghost always moved together, Gaz and Captain Price too. Gaz moved forward and the Captain cleared.

She always worked around them, always adapting to their needs. If she had to change places with one of them, Leah had no problems, she had learned to know them so well that she imitated their movements so as not to break the pattern.

But she had never, ever had to work with the Captain and it pained her to admit that she felt a little disappointed by that.

While her companions had opened up to her over time, telling her about their private lives, the Captain's to her was a tortuous mystery. As if they were at the foot of a huge mountain trying to climb and slipping again and again while he is there, at the top. Looking at them and laughing at them in case anyone managed to find out something about him.

Leah had heard Soap say that the only one who really knew Price was Laswell, because they had worked together for a long time in the past.

And Leah had obviously always been interested in the Captain. Always trying to remain feminine enough when she was around him to attract his attention, although sometimes she forgot it on the battlefield. She didn't think about it until she was under the shower and the thoughts of everything that had happened shook her.

Then she realized and understood that someone as unattainable as him was never going to set his eyes on her.

Of course, they were "friends", they talked from time to time and when there were only opportunities, they shared a cigarette in silence.

Leah made jokes and she loved how he laughed, stiffly, pursing his lips under his beard as he looked at her.

It was as if for a moment only she existed for him.

But, as nice as he was, he was distant.

"Good morning" Soap rubs his eyes when he sees her, stretching over his head, a group of recently arrived female soldiers trotted past in front, whispering and laughing in their direction "Good ladies…" he greeted solemnly, trying to flirt with them "Hey Leah, if it's your turn to train those in that group today, could you say a good word about me to the one with black hair?" Leah followed her gaze, there were many with black hair.

"Specific, Soap"

"The one with black eyes, the one who stares at him" Leah is almost scared when she feels Ghost appear out of nowhere, but she continues looking for the girl until she finds her, the group of women stops and she is the only one who is looking towards where they are, staring at Soap with a tender smile.

"I invited her for a drink last night," Soap shrugged his shoulders, "she's pretty cute."

"Pretty cute?" Ghost growled "you were drooling, Johnny."

Soap laughed and Leah shook her head.

"Where is Gaz?" Leah asked, looking around.

"In the office with Price," Soap said.

The captain always left his office at ten in the morning to shout orders, it was always the four of them, to run the place, if not to train new recruits or take charge of training or meetings that he hated attending. It was to be replaced when she had to go into town and have meetings at the CIA building where she herself had left.

And that morning was not far from reality.

Leah looked at the watch in her hand and tried to maintain a relaxed posture, paying attention to what Soap was telling Ghost about the position of the weapons or how he had shot the other day in training, but her eyes went to the man He came out after Garrick, in his military suit and hat, some leaves in his hands while he rubbed his face with his hands.

His walk was slow and light, it was as if he moved around without having to look where he was stepping because he knew the entire place by heart. He was also tall, six foot nine, a little shorter than Ghost but intimidating enough for her, who was five foot six, dammit. He was a flea in the midst of so many big men.

“Hey” Gaz joined the group, greeting everyone, Leah was feeling calm that morning. He had decided of his own free will to try to pretend that he had no feelings for the Captain, he had been trying to do it for years, but this day he really wanted to pretend that they were just friends.

“What's up for today Cap?” Soap wanted to know.

“Ghost and Gaz” Price said looking at the sheets  “I need you out, I need you to go to Manchester and meet with Laswell, he will give you a location, go and extract. Do you understand?”

“Copied” Ghost murmured.

“Soap, I need you at shooting training with Group A and Leah” Price gently looked up, blinking with a neutral expression “I need you to train the new group of women who just arrived, make them sweat and suffer, yes? You're good at that” Price winked at her and she turned red but couldn't help it. John Price smiled when he saw her and sighed, looking at the others “well, let's move.”

Ghost and Gaz walked away immediately, Soap walked away with Price behind them as they talked about something, she stood still for a moment thinking about their moves, her mind creating the perfect tactics and training for the new ones as her eyes followed his back. John Price's width and big shoulders.

His mind wandered to how strong his arms would be or whether his chest would be as hard as the wall behind his back. Her mouth went dry and she didn't notice Soap coming to her again with a sly smile.

He wrapped his arm around her neck and shook her hair with his hands.

“Hey!” Leah pushed him away laughing and Soap too “What's wrong with you, idiot?”.

“You turned all red, huh?”.

“What are you talking about?”

Soap grabbed her shoulder and stared at her.

“When are you going to tell him you're in love, Leah?” She opened her eyes wider than normal and pushed him away with a single punch to the chest.

"Idiot” he rolled his eyes, "go to work, lazy man."

Soap chuckled.

"Remember to be good to the black-haired girl," she murmured as she walked away, but Leah furrowed her eyebrows at the woman beyond, oh no.

I wasn't going to be very good to her.

John Price was sitting in the chair in front of his desk, his legs spread lengthwise on the table as he crossed his arms over his chest. I needed a few minutes of silence, of rest. Maybe a little Whiskey.

But he woke up to a couple of sounds coming from outside the office, which made him lower his feet from the desk and look out through the glass walls. He could see a group of female soldiers running from one side to the other without rest. John chuckled and stood up with his hands behind his back to look closer out the window.

Leah screamed demandingly, demanding them over and over again that she wouldn't stop. Damn, the woman had a loud voice that was even sweet when she screamed, the expression on her face was enigmatic as she gave orders and saw how she enjoyed making her subordinates suffer.

His chest swelled when he saw her, he felt a pride that he often felt with her. But it was just pride, wasn't it? Her eyebrows slowly furrowed as she watched a random soldier approach her and talk close to her ear, though the expression on Leah's face didn't change as she shook her head, John's hands going hard on her back and without realizing it. He was gritting his teeth and feeling strangely jealous.

It was idiotic.

He turned around and approached his desk, opened the first drawer and took out his bottle of Scotch Whiskey, poured some into the glass tumbler he had on the table and drank it down.

His eyes traveling to the window as he watched Leah shout and give orders.

(...)

When the night comes, Leah is exhausted, Soap invited her to have a drink at the bar with the rest of the team, which she denied, saying that she was too tired to go out in the cold of the night even though she knew that a strong drink was going to warm her body.

One of her friends of the same rank as Sergeant, Darcy, had approached to encourage her to go with the group, but Leah also refused, promising to go out on Friday with the group of girls.

He dragged his feet towards the training field to collect the things he had left on the bench before going to his room when he saw John Price with his feet outside the training field, on the cold, dry ground, looking around at the dark night. Smoke billowed from between his lips as he took a long drag on his cigar.

She swallowed slowly and with great difficulty.

The image of John Price looking out into the dark blue night of the base, smoking a cigar, was disconcerting and beautiful. And for that reason and more, Leah didn't think as she glided up to him, carrying her things in one hand, and approached his side.

“What are you doing here alone, my captain?” she joked, but she turned red. Had she really said to my captain? shit.

John turned to see her with the cigar in his lips.

“Oh, I'm... I don't know, killing time?” He shrugged his shoulders, moving awkwardly on his feet.

"Sure," Leah smiled.

“And you?” John stared at her, for a moment at her lips and then at her eyes as if his thoughts had evaporated.

“Same thing, I think” Leah sighed looking at the dark starless sky, then turned to him and noticed that John's hat was tilted, she raised her hand adjusting it while he stared at her “it was... crooked” she swallowed slowly, being aware of how he was looking at her, but she couldn't stop herself from acting stupid with him.

"Thank you," he murmured hoarsely, expelling the smoke to the other side as he looked at her and noticed her cheeks turning red.

“You are welcome”.

"I guess it looks better now," Price licked his lips unconsciously and that small gesture made Leah's head explode.

"I'm glad," she smiled looking into his eyes, the knot in her belly twisted making her feel dizzy because of the way he was looking at her, it wasn't usual. It was unusual for him to see her like that “Aren't you going to go with the boys to the bar?”.

"Yes, in a while," he replied without taking his eyes off her, "I'm waiting for Gaz. The boy is in love, apparently.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes” Price smoked his cigar again “Aren't you going?”.

Leah swallowed slowly and shook her head firmly.

“I'm exhausted. I need my bed”.

“Hmmm…” Price murmured, nodding “that sounds good”.

Leah felt like everything was spinning around her, she was so hot and the truth is that it was so cold that she didn't understand it. He looked into John Price's greenish eyes one last time and smiled, patting the Captain's arm without crossing the line of allowable trust.

"Have a good night, Captain," he said, turning around.

"Yes, you too... Leah," he whispered hoarsely. His British voice echoing in Leah's mind and ravaging her body.

Her steps felt heavy as she walked away from him, as if the strings of her heart that had been tied to him without permission were pulling tightly. He closed his eyes, pulling them out, but they were cooked tightly.

Several minutes later she was lying on her bed trying to read a book, before that relaxed her and she could clear her mind, but at that moment she couldn't. No matter how much she read and read, her mind went to John and the way he had looked at her.

In the morning, Leah was feeling energetic. He knew he had a lot of work to do because Gaz had sent him a message to tell him that they had to go meet with Laswell to receive information about a mission and study some plans for possible field research, so he showered, dressed in his military uniform and hurried out of his room. Gaz was sending messages to her phone to hurry up, so she walked down the hallway typing with her fingers on the screen, totally distracted and not looking ahead.

John Price came grunting softly down the hall, his eyebrows furrowed as he shook his head and rubbed his forehead. Neither of them saw each other when they collided. John had a coffee in his hands and managed to push it away from her before it spilled on any of them, but Leah collided with his hard chest and almost fell backwards if he hadn't been agile enough to grab her arm and hold her. instead.

Leah's brown eyes met John's in a span of a second in which her mind had no thought other than "Oh shit" which made her slow to react.

“Captain! I'm sorry, I'm sorry…” Leah bent down to pick up her phone that had fallen to the floor at the moment when her hands landed on John's chest, who was wearing the military suit, the green sweatshirt with the half-zip opened, revealing the gray t-shirt underneath.

"It's okay, nothing's wrong," John released her arm, looking at her intently. "Are you okay?" .

“Oh yeah. Now yes," the girl joked as she put the phone in her pants pocket and smiled mischievously. John raised his eyebrows but smiled back, unable to help it. Leah realized that even though he had smiled at her flirting, he seemed angry for some reason and tilted her head “Are you angry about something?”.

“Angry?” John straightened up, softening his expression and stretched his sweatshirt down distractedly “I'm not... I'm angry. Why would I be angry?” he took a sip of coffee, looking at her.

"You look... like you came grumpy," he laughed slowly.

“I always seem grumpy, don't I?” Although John laughed, Leah could still hear the hard tone in his voice and sighed heavily, trying to find the way he made her feel worried.

“Well yes, you're right” she smiled back as they looked into each other's eyes. John sighed a little calmer. What was wrong? Leah had never seen him interact with her like that, like... Did it make him nervous? No, it had to be his imagination.

"I'm usually always in a bad mood." John made a gesture with his hands, grunting to himself with his eyebrows furrowed, and Leah smiled because the gesture was quite cute for someone like him.

John wasn't wearing a hat so he could see his short blonde hair and since he rarely saw it he thought it was quite adorable.

"Captain," she sighed calmly, as she spoke with him every day, as friends, as co-workers, as a sergeant who trusted her boss, "you know that if you want to talk about anything, you can have a cup of coffee with me” she stretched out a hand towards John, removing a couple of invisible lint on his clothes while looking deliberately into his eyes. That was impromptu flirting! She wanted to hit herself “I'm a good listener”.

“And you think a hot cup of coffee will solve my problems?” John mocked ironically, playing with her as he changed his position, crossing his arms over his chest after leaving the coffee on the firebox to the side, he looked at her with one eyebrow over the other waiting for her response.

Leah chuckled as if flirting was a normal thing between them. But it was the first time I became aware of it, apparently because I was so fucking nervous.

“Then with what?” He looked into her eyes-.

“Hmm, with… with a lot of milk… and sugar” John laughed slowly, tilting his head, and Leah, although she turned red, laughed anyway. Fuck, fuck, fuck What was going on? “I don't know Leah, I'm just kidding you. It just so happens that you made me vent a little”.

“Well” she shrugged her shoulders, taking a couple of steps back “I like it when you joke with me, because you look less grumpy, you know?”.

John chuckled again.

“Yeah?” she nodded “And why is that?”

"Sometimes you're funnier than grumpy, I just don't think you've realized." Leah tilted her head thoughtfully, although she was nervous talking to him was so natural... The ropes pulling from her heart towards him made her see his lips a little. little, the way those green eyes looked into hers made the blood rush to her head.

“Oh yeah?” John released his arms and approached with his head bowed slightly towards her “Do you like my jokes?”.

"Maybe," he pouted, feigning disinterest, looking at him as if there was no one around him, as if cadets weren't passing here and there. The magic was as if he were making her float in the air as if with one movement he could reach John Price's lips with the tips of his fingers. Magic that broke when Gaz began desperately calling her on the phone — shit, shit — she said, stepping back “I have to go, I have to go to the CIA with Gaz”.

“Ah, Laswell told me. Good luck with that” John sighed regretfully and turned away.

“See you!” She began to run quickly down the hallway and John stood watching her figure disappear.

"Old fool," he said to himself, shaking his head, continuing on his way, forgetting the coffee on the firebox.

His mind was filled with full lips and brown eyes the entire rest of the day and, also, the lonely night.

Chapter 2.

A FEW DAYS LATER, Leah had been kept busy gathering information with Gaz about some missiles they needed to find, if they found the location soon, they would be planning a ground mission before the first snow of December fell, which in theory was, well.

He had kept minimal contact with John since the day of their hallway collision. Enough to make flirtatious jokes of three or four sentences before going their separate ways.

That specific day, neither she nor the group had much to do. It was Friday and almost the entire base was relaxing for the weekend, some were returning home and those who stayed were hanging around the base doing anything from training to playing poker in the dining room.

“Hey, Leah” Soap finished his breakfast while Ghost typed on his phone without taking his eyes off the screen. She was still on her phone, texting her mom that she probably wasn't going to be there for Christmas. Not if they collected the information necessary to execute the mission.

“Hmm?”.

“Let's bet something” Gaz approached them with his tray in hand and sat next to Leah watching her frown as she responded to the message “Yes?”.

“Hmmm” Leah sighed and turned off the cell phone screen, annoyed with her mother and left the phone on the table to look at Soap”.

"Soap wants to be humiliated," Ghost muttered, typing on his phone.

“And who the hell are you talking to by the way?” Soap leaned in to look but Ghost pushed him away with one hand covering his entire face”.

"With your mom," Ghost answered, making Leah and Gaz laugh.

“How funny” Soap closed his eyes and turned to Leah “as he said, let's bet” he looked at her with that evil expression that Soap had when he was behaving like a kid.

“You want to bet... With me?”. She rested her elbows on the table and her chin on her hand.

“At the shooting range, if I hit the doll in the middle of the forehead with the Scar-H you will ask the captain for a date” Gaz almost spit out his coffee and Ghost looked away from the phone, becoming interested in the conversation.

“If not?”.

“And if you don't” Ghost imitated his position on the table, “I'll let you embarrass me in the middle of the training field”.

Leah raised an eyebrow and looked at Gaz who nodded encouragingly. But she looked at Soap again.

“Why would I want a date with Price?”.

"You and I know why," Soap murmured.

"No, no," he denied, "not that. Let's bet something else, do you want?”.

Ghost put the phone away and looked at them expectantly. Gaz leaned forward to hear clearly.

“If you win I make Holly come and leave you breakfast every day” she raised an eyebrow”.

“Is her name Holly?” Soap snorted excitedly “But how would you make it...?”

“I have my tricks” she shrugged her shoulders “but if I win, you will clean the team uniform for a month”.

"A month is too short a time," Ghost murmured.

"Yes, make it a year," Gaz encouraged.

Soap scowled at them.

"Okay, okay... one year," he downplayed, "I'll win anyway."

Leah looked at Ghost and smiled, she could imagine her friend smiling under the balaclava.

“So it's a bet?” Soap stretched out his hand.

Leah thought about it for a few moments, but they always bet idiotic things anyway. Now that he wanted to bet on something that involved John it was a dirty game to expose her, but she wasn't going to let him do it. He was his friend and he loved him, but sometimes he didn't know how to stay silent.

(...)

John was breathing deeply against his office desk. His hand covered almost his entire forehead as he rubbed it, trying to lessen the headache when Gaz came in, opening the door as if they were chasing him.

“What's happening?” he asked, alarmed.

"Leah, Soap, shooting range sir, now," John raised his eyebrows and chuckled, dragging his chair back to stand up.

“When is the day that Soap gives up?” he snorted, following Gaz calmly “he will never be able to beat him. What are they shooting with this time?” John tried not to sound so interested, but Gaz was as close a friend to Leah as he was to John, he knew them and he didn't have to ask to know that there was a genuine attraction between them.

"With a Scar-H," he exclaimed, pushing the door towards the gym and the shooting range that opened up around them both.

The first thing John saw was a bunch of female and male soldiers huddled on the edge of the firing range trying to get a good view. He made his way without difficulty since upon seeing him the soldiers automatically moved aside and he took a position right in front, crossing his arms over his chest.

She had her gear on, her gun in her hands, shooting straight at the target. Ghost walked up to John and Price's side.

“How many do you have?” John asked Ghost.

"Six out of three," he said as if he were laughing.

"Damn," John scoffed, "Does Soap have a fetish for being humiliated?" .

The three of them laughed.

"I think so," Ghost also crossed his arms and the three watched Soap shoot, nowhere near the target.

Murmurs of mockery and others of laughter were heard. John was holding back his laughter, because his eyes fixed on Leah in the distance. She turned to load the gun and her brown eyes met his, but she looked away in concentration and John felt his chest tighten.

He breathed as if he had been in the water for an eternity and had come to the surface.

Leah beat Soap by far and John smiled in satisfaction, she never let her down on those things. It was amazing how she was able to concentrate and be strict.

As everyone dispersed she approached her group, Soap shook his head in resignation.

"A year then," he murmured, looking at her.

“A year, but forget it. Not my clothes. Only the boys'” She left her equipment on the table, took off her vest and disassembled the Scar, leaving it on the table running her fingers over it as if she were caressing it. John's eyes fixed on her.

"Good job, Leah," he said and clearing his throat, he looked at Soap. "You disappoint me, Soap. Don't you get bored of losing to a woman like her?" 

"Hope is the last thing you lose, Captain," Soap murmured and looked at Leah who was taking off her gloves and talking about tactical things with Ghost.

"Yes," John murmured thoughtfully, following Soap's gaze at Leah. Did Soap like the girl? Or were they just friends? He crossed his arms trying to appear oblivious to that feeling in his heart.

"Will you join us at the bar, sir?"  Gaz made him come out of the trance by squeezing his shoulder, he looked at him distracted.

“Ah yeah sure”.

“Hey, Angel of Death” Gaz yelled at Leah “Are you coming with us to the bar?”.

"I don't think so, I mean... I'll go, but I promised my friends to go with them." Leah shook her hands, looking at John out of the corner of her eye.

“Are you going to introduce us to your friends someday Leah?” Soap murmured, playing with a knife.

“Can you stop thinking with your cock once in your life Johnny?” Ghost growled at him and then the masked man looked at Leah “Your friend the sergeant?”.

"Yep, my friend the other sergeant," she laughed, "I'll give her your regards, Simon."

Ghost stayed silent and Soap started bothering him.

"See you around," she glided away after looking at John and smiling sideways.

He looked at her butt for the first time with different eyes.

He had known her for a few years, she was charming since he saw her. But he always saw her in a professional manner because she always looked quite professional. John didn't know what had changed but an animal instinct was flowing through him. One I haven't felt in a long, long time.

“Come on, Cap?” Gaz patted his chest and looked at him with a mocking smile, John followed him with furrowed eyebrows.

"What a look that is on your face, boy," he barely asked, as he took out a cigar and lit it in his lips as he walked out of the base.

“Not even one. I haven't even looked at it”.

"Hmm," he growled silently, drawing the cigarette smoke into his old lungs and then throwing it out. "You and Leah are very close, right?"

“We are friends, sir. She's like my little sister," he shrugged his shoulders.

“So do you know if he's dating anyone?” Gaz looked at him as they left the parking lot, the bar was two blocks from the base so they basically left there and did it on foot.

"He's not dating anyone, as far as I know," he smiled at him. "Why, sir? If I can ask”.

John denied.

"Curiosity," he murmured, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder, "tell me boy, how are things going with your girl?" .

Gaz smiled widely.

"Excellent sir, I will see you tomorrow."

"I'm happy Gaz, I'm happy for you."

Gaz smiled and John continued walking beside him, Leah's voice lingering in his head.

(...)

A song by The Cranberries was playing on the jukebox as Leah was laughing with her friends about what one of them had heard from a soldier the other day. His beer bottle was between his fingers as he listened to one of them attentively, but the truth was that his eyes darted from time to time to the men sitting beyond the door.

Ghost, Soap, Gaz and John were sitting at a small table, mostly listening to Soap's stories half drunk because he was almost screaming laughing.

But Leia saw John from time to time, sitting in the chair with one arm on his stomach and the other on the table, holding a glass of Scotch Whiskey.

John looked at her for a moment and just for a moment she smiled at him in greeting. However, a short time later John was already on his sixth glass of Whiskey. But he wasn't like Soap, he didn't catch fire with water and even if he drank a whole bottle of Whiskey alone, he knew how to maintain his sanity unless he didn't want it himself.

Years of experience. And he knew it.

“Is everything okay Cap?” Gaz squeezed his shoulder, drawing his slightly distracted attention to Leah, her dark jeans, her leather jacket, that black scarf around her neck, and her hair that sometimes looked half red loose on her shoulders gives her such a different look. to see her inside the military suit.

“I was just...thinking” John raised his glass of Whiskey to his lips, his eyes lingering on Leah going to places he preferred not to go.

Leah looked back at them again, noticing John's lost, wistful gaze somewhere on the floor as he drank his Whiskey.

"We're leaving," Darcy shook her arm. "Are you coming with us?" Leah looked at her friend and then at the boys' table, it was the fourth time that Soap called her by extending his hands, this time it was Gaz who joined him and Leah couldn't help but laugh as she turned to her friend.

“Do not go. I'll stay with the boys for a while” her friend smiled and said goodbye to her.

Once she was alone, Leah slid over to the table where they were, Gaz pulled out a chair for her with a double intent right next to John Price.

“Angel, Angel” Soap babbles “two against three, two against three” she turned her attention to her drunk friend and furrowed her eyebrows without realizing that John was looking at her with almost childlike amazement. Almost as if there was nothing else in the world I should be doing at that very moment.

“What thing?”.

“Beer or tequila” Gaz dropped his glass of tequila on the table looking at her dramatically and she laughed.

“I prefer beer, tequila gives me problems” he leaned against the back of the chair and crossed his arms, laughing while Gaz grabbed Soap by the arm with an exaggerated I TOLD YOU SO, SON OF A BITCH. And he sat down again.

John had that shocked expression that he couldn't get rid of, but it was that very thing that didn't let him say anything. Maybe because he was too drunk to say any coherent words or just because he was lost in thought, remembering the first time she arrived, those years ago, where he himself had gotten angry at Laswell for sending him a spy and she was the one who left him. with his mouth open. He had trusted her enough to include her in the 1-4-1 forever. And he never thought of including a woman in that.

She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen and he knew it not just because he was a little drunk. He always knew it, he just felt too ridiculous to admit it.

As she talked and laughed with the boys Leah looked at Price with a smile. He cleared his throat and leaned close to her ear without any intention of making it seem sexual to ask her if she wanted another beer and that he invited her. Leah nodded, feigning concentration on the story of Ghost, the one who talked a lot more when he drank too much.

John stood up like a rock and went to get Leah's beer and sat next to her, accidentally brushing his knee against hers. He handed her the beer and she received it, brushing her fingers as she took it.

Unintentionally.

A few minutes later, Leah's stomach hurt from laughing and she probably would have stayed longer if she hadn't seen the time.

"Well, it was fun but I have to go now." Leah took her bottle and drank the last of it. John watched her distractedly as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand and licked his own lips as if he were the one licking her. She looked at him “good night”.

He looked away at the bottom of his empty whiskey glass and shook his head as if out of inertia.

“Good night”.

Leah swallowed hard, it was hard for her to smile but she did it anyway, getting up and grabbing her jacket to go out into the cold. It was still August, but it was honestly very cold.

John watched her leave, his eyes following the shape of her body, the sound of her footsteps as she walked away, feeling as if an enormous weight was looming on his shoulders. He got up to the bar and ordered another drink.

Although Gaz's steps were slow due to the alcohol, he managed to crawl towards the bar and lean on it looking at the Captain.

“That?” John asked with a frown as he swirled the ice in the now refilled whiskey glass.

"I didn't say anything," Gaz took off his Jockey and shook his short hair.

"But you want to do it."

“And I can?”.

"Son of a bitch," John laughed, taking a sip of Whiskey, Gaz rested his forearms on the bar and asked for another Whiskey to accompany John, "say it."

“Are you seriously going to stay here watching her leave instead of going after her?”.

John sighed heavily as he turned to Gaz, weighing his thoughts, tasting the Whiskey on his tongue. He looked over his shoulder at the bar door, she should be arriving at the base then.

"Yes," and he took another sip, licking his lips, "seriously." Gaz shook his head and smiled as he drank with him in silence.

(...)

In her room, Leah tried to fall asleep. Thanks to the alcohol it became easier, but she kept feeling that her body was tingling in the areas where John Price had accidentally touched her at the bar. A movement of the knees, an elbow, the fingers when giving him the beer. The warm, lost look, full of nostalgia.

I couldn't help but feel a lump in my throat. She also didn't have to be a fortune teller to know, after several years working at his side, that the man was broken in some way. And that perhaps it was no longer time to be a spectator in his eyes, Leah took a breath before closing her eyes, promising herself to start giving John signs about her feelings. About how much she wants to... take care of him.

Chapter 3

-And now! — Leah raised her hand and the recruits ran away in a hurry. She looked at the stopwatch and when it reached one minute she raised her hand — Stop! Mason, Willis, Levson and Collen, you can go! The rest of us run for half an hour! —.

Between frustrated sighs, those who did not win began to run making their last effort.

—No mercy Bravo-7? — Darcy, her friend nudged her, appearing at her side —.

Leah rolled her eyes.

-Do not call me that way -.

"Isn't that what he calls you?" — Darcy surreptitiously moved his head towards Price's office that could be seen from where they were. Leah could see him waving his hands while talking on the phone, apparently a little irritated.

In the last few days I had not seen him or spoken to him. In the mornings she trained her group and in the afternoon she had meetings with Gaz and Laswell about the missiles.

Ghost and Soap had gone to Mexico to help Alejandro with some drug dealing stuff, so they weren't there.

"It was a joke and unfortunately it stayed that way." Leah shrugged her shoulders, watching the recruits run.

"Well, they say that you're strict just like him and if you don't believe it, ask your girls."

—I'm not strict. I just… want to do things right —.

"I know," Darcy patted him on the cheek, "and you're doing it right."

She says goodbye to her friend and follows her with her gaze, gradually focusing on John a little further away. He stands with his hands in his pants pockets looking at her. He raises a hand to greet her and Leah does the same, feeling so awkward that she He stops breathing and looks away, frowning.

Shit.

The rest of the day is dedicated to routine things, meetings with Gaz, gathering information. Calls with Laswell, etc. By nightfall, Leah decides to go for a run around the training field, when no one is around. So she puts on her headphones and starts running in a hurry, a song playing as she runs around the court without stopping. Barely looking around, she doesn't notice that John is standing outside his office, which is right in the corner of the court, leaning against the wall, allowing himself to light a cigarette as he looks at her.

About an hour in, Leah stops panting, hands on her knees, body bent over. John runs his eyes over her body, clad in those exercise leggings, sweat running down her white skin as he finishes his second cigarette. She turns around and is scared when she sees him.

"Shit," he exclaims, taking off his headphones, "since when have you been there?" —he laughs, approaching with labored breathing—.

"Just a few minutes ago," he lies thoughtfully, "You keep running when you get stressed, huh?" —.

Oh, he knew it.

Every time Leah ran around the court it was because something was making her self-conscious, but saying it out loud made him feel betrayed in some way, like he had missed that there were many things about her that he knew and liked.

"Yes," she answers, raising an eyebrow, wondering how he knows that, but she smiles. She grabs the water bottle from her bag and drinks a little — And you can't sleep? —.

—The more tired I am, the less I want to sleep—he shrugs his shoulders, blowing the cigarette smoke away and throwing the butt on the floor when he steps on it, he steps aside to let her pass through the doors and continues walking beside her— Is Laswell stressing you out? —.

—She's stressed, Shepherd is a pain in the ass, that's all—Leah snorts—She hasn't told you? —.

—About the missiles? Yes, but we can't do anything until they give us permission, fucking bureaucrats — John denies as he walks with his hands in his pants pockets —.

—At least we have enough information, we know where they may be. You just have to wait.

—While we wait, horrible things can happen —.

—I know—Leah looks ahead, the hallway of the rooms divides in two, John's room is on the opposite side from hers—Gaz and I are working on it, tomorrow I have to go to Laswell, I'll let you know. of the preview in the afternoon. Is it okay? —.

—Yes—John nods, trying to feel his cigarette awkwardly between his pockets—yes.

"Good night, John."

"Good night, Leah," she smiled slowly and turned to head to her room.

Another night sleeping with my heart in my hand.

(…)

The next morning John Price remains engrossed in briefings with Gaz. The day passes slowly and boringly, as they discuss what their course of action would be if Laswell gave them the upper hand.

He has a cigar in his mouth while his feet are up on his desk and Gaz looks things up on the computer in front of him.

—Hey Gaz—He murmurs, fuming to the side—I don't think I've ever asked you this, but have you always worked with Leah before I recruited you and took you out of the CIA?

—Yes sir, we joined the same platoon, then she met Laswell and started working for her until Laswell sent her to work with us —.

—But she still works for Laswell, right? —.

-I think so? — Gaz looks away from the computer to look at the Captain's thoughtful expression as he smokes his cigar lying on the chair — Why? —.

-Curiosity -.

He clears his throat slightly, it's not like he suspects her of being a spy. John knew from the moment Laswell sent her with them years ago that she was someone who could be trusted. She tried everything there was to try in Urzikistan, she almost stayed with Farrah and Alex and she knew it from the moment the two women met and instantly liked each other.

As if he had her on his own radar, John sees a faint shadow moving across his vision past Gaz. His eyes move quickly to find Leah walking across the meeting room to the door of his office. She smiles as she texts something on her phone and there's something about that smile and those eyes that makes John feel his blood rush to his feet.

Before he can think, John is on his feet walking towards the meeting room. Gaz sees him smiling but doesn't say anything and lets him go.

—Hey—John opens the door from his office to the meeting room and the girl looks up from the phone—good night—she smiles.

—John—she turns off the phone and puts it in the back pocket of her black pants, takes out the folder under her arm and extends it—good night—she laughs—I have this for you—.

—Mmm, more damn paperwork? — he takes the cigar out of his mouth as the door closes behind him and puts it out in the ashtray on the conference table. He looks at her and looks slightly distracted, John observes her figure surreptitiously, his eyes a little tired. But he feels like a slow burn… a feeling he can't stop feeling… a consciousness growing inside him.

—Information about Paris—.

John looks at the folder and raises his eyebrows.

—Paris huh? Gaz told me -.

—Yes, we weren't sure. Now — she looks over John's shoulder and sees Gaz working on the computer in John's office on the other side — Working so late? —.

“Working hard,” he whispers, his voice a little hoarse. She doesn't know what to say suddenly, the words feel like they're on a page, she feels that somehow her back is sweating as if she were burning and he was too close to her. Leah approaches his side, touching her body to his side, she moves the pages of the report pointing things out and talking, but he is looking at her like a fool without listening to her or understanding her.

"Read it," she whispers, closing the folder next to her but it stays there, "and tell me how it is." She sighs, her arm brushing against John's, barely touching each other for just a second.

But it's enough to set John on fire.

"Mmm, I'll do it," he murmurs and she pulls away with a gentle smile.

—If everything goes well… Tomorrow we will probably have permission to go investigate — she sighs, looking into his opaque blue eyes, which shine unusually for her that night. John moves a hand and puts it on the girl's back as he looks at her.

“You did well,” he nods slowly, as if he were closely controlling his movements.

Leah blushes as she looks into his eyes, her throat tightens and suddenly it's cold in the room, her hands feel cold and her body feels shaky. Move back by inertia.

—I have to… go — he points back — you… you tell Gaz, yes?

John can't even move, he watches her leave. His eyes on her figure as he disappears through the other door and down the hallway. His body feels empty, suddenly. Trying to find something to touch. He swallows hard and looks at the folder in his other hand but it's just forgotten paper in his hands. His mind is filled with it and he can't… breathe for several seconds. A subtle but dangerous attraction fills him completely, a flame fluttering in his chest.

Gaz's touch through the door window snaps him out of his trance and he turns to him.

-All good? — but there is mischief in the boy's look and John… just laughs, shaking his head. He opens the door and hands her the folder.

"Looks like she's doing all the work for us kid," he murmurs, shuffling his steps back to his desk.

In the middle of the night later, John is sitting at the desk in his room, his glass of whiskey half empty on the table. His shirt is open revealing his chest. He drinks a little while staring at the laptop screen and looking at Leah's report on the side. His expression is calm but the veins in his neck seem to pulse against his skin. His fingers slide over the keyboard as he sighs.

He exhales as he drinks another bit of Whiskey. The alcohol begins to take its toll on him at that time of night but his expression remains neutral. His eyes dart from the screen to Lea's report almost with a longing that makes him feel anxious. He drinks a little more and a little more and rubs his forehead with his fingertips as he exhales again.

He sinks into the seat with a sigh, memories filling him, tormenting him again. He fills his glass immersed in bitterness. His breathing is long and slow as he drinks. He hears the ice crack as it melts and his eyes go to the window. The world looks so still, as if it were a painting. He scratches between his eyebrows and leaves the glass on the table, his phone vibrates next to the laptop with messages. Several are from Laswell and Gaz, even from Soap with some shitty jokes that I could probably read later.

But his heart stops when he looks at Leah C.'s Name on his screen.

"Did you read the reports?"

His breath stays in his throat, he takes the glass of Whiskey and drinks in silence while grunting under his breath.

"In my room in ten minutes," he responds, taking another drink.

He knows he's lost, that the alcohol has already taken all of him at that moment, but he can't stop.

Chapter 4

His breath catches in his throat as he shuffles down the hallway. Do the footsteps sound louder? Is she being too loud? A soldier quickly passes by on the right and salutes her as usual. Leah is not breathing and presses her back to the wall with her head too. Eyes closed as he tries to calm down. When he opens them he looks around, the long hallway stretches to the end and keeps turning but Captain John Price's room is just four doors down from where he is.

Fuck, fuck.

Take another breath.

It's just work, damn it.

Another breath and he moves his feet again, one in front of the other as if he had more than 30 pounds on each thigh. This feels worse than running uphill on a rainy night while trying to save yourself. The thought makes her smile as she reaches the door with the name "Captain Price" in gold letters.

She knocks on the wood of the door twice. He's not breathing but he's there, risking everything. Never, in all the years has she been there, standing at John Price's door waiting for him to open or… whatever.

-It's open! Happens! — The scream sounds like the ones he makes when he yells at new cadets or like a boisterous laugh while talking about something with Gaz.

Leah frowns and turns the doorknob, opening it slowly.

The room is dark except for the laptop screen on the small desk at the foot of the bed.

"Come in, come in," she hears him say. Leah takes a while to adjust her eyes to the darkness and seeing him, there, sunk in the seat in front of the desk. His figure is drawn as a shadow by the light in front of his face on the screen.

She moves forward after closing the door and approaches the edge of the table, trying to maintain a professional expression. But the fight is terrible within his heart. Because she has rarely seen John in a deplorable state like the one she sees him in now, which makes her feel like hugging him, sitting on his lap and holding him until his tense body relaxes and she puts her hands on his back, surrendering. to the need to love affection.

“Sit down,” he murmurs. Her eyes are on the screen and in her hands a glass of Whiskey that Leah smells, it's Scotch. But she doesn't stay looking at the glass but at the image of him, leaning against the back of the chair, with his shirt open and his chest exposed.

Even through the light of the screen that seems to illuminate nothing, Leah can see some scars on his enormous pecs and some beautiful ones in the middle that disappear as they go down.

He follows his sane instincts as much as he can and grabs a chair he sees out of the corner of his eye dragging it next to the desk next to John.

She looks at her report next to John's laptop and then looks back into his eyes, finding John's blue eyes on her.

—So—she clears her throat in a useless attempt to calm down and tries her best not to lower her eyes from John's and see his hard… and broad chest—You read the report.

—I read it, very useful — John takes a sip of Whiskey while looking at her — but I assume you knew that… — John swallows as he removes the glass from his lips and licks them as if he didn't want to waste a single drop of the Whiskey. He almost wants to smile at the sight of Leah's cheeks so red with the blood on her face, as if she were writhing under the weight of his gaze, fighting for something inside.

—Assume what? —She rests one arm on the table taking the report, just to have something to do while he looks at her like that—.

—Do you want me to say it? — Leah looks at him and he tilts his head as he continues to look at her, his eyes fluttering over her in a back-and-forth that makes her feel dizzy.

Leah snorts.

—Okay, that's wrong. Which is strange for a woman who worked at the CIA during her first years of service, right? I should know more how… Damn, I'm good at shooting from a distance, I hit the target and I can take down Ghost who is stronger than me but… — she scratches her forehead, pressing her fingers between her eyebrows — I hate making reports, I think Which is why I was so happy to be here when Laswell sent me.

"I don't…" John looks a little bewildered and watches her take the glass from him and take a sip while looking into his eyes.

"I didn't want to disappoint you," Leah swallows, feeling the bitter taste on her tongue and in her throat. The way he wrinkles his forehead and nose makes John want to cuddle him.

"You don't disappoint me," he murmurs, smiling. However, his expression hardens as soon as he clears his throat. He feels a small voice in the back of his head, the words soft and quiet, a whisper of air like a warning. He lets out a breath and drinks some Whiskey again, taking the glass from Leah, looking at her computer screen. “You did well,” he murmurs. “We just can't do much with all this information if we can't act.” John says. He rubs his forehead with his fingertips — damn bureaucrats, sons of bitches —.

Leah smiles, resting her cheek in the palm of her hand.

"I'm sorry, as much as Laswell loves me, I can't make her twist her arm for this," he sighs, "we have to wait."

John looks at her.

“Mmm,” he grunts, rolling his eyes back to the screen.

—Well then, is that why you called me or why did you accept the conversation? — She leans a little over the table trying to meet his gaze — Has the curmudgeon decided to talk about what's bothering him? —.

John looks at her with a tense jaw.

"There's a storm brewing, Leah," he growls, breathing heavily through his nose. His eyes fluttering between yours and your lips. He leans toward her and Leah screams as John slides his chair closer to him. His expression is dark, but as if tenderness is struggling to get through. His eyes roam over Leah's lips, her loose blonde hair over her shoulders, her neck. He takes another whiff of Whiskey as he looks at her.

"You're grumpier when you drink," Leah murmurs without thinking, his small action of pulling her closer in the chair has gotten her on edge, she no longer has time to think about what is right or wrong. She just wants him to kiss her and she knows she's going to let him do it.

—And you like that? — John leaves the glass on the table while not taking his blue eyes off Leah's brown ones. The light from the computer screen captures Leah's silhouette against the wall and his. He looks at her hungrily even in the middle of his drunkenness and can see her cheeks getting redder and redder.

"No," she murmurs, looking at John's lips as she swallows slowly, takes a deep breath and willpower to look at the computer screen again. "What are you working on?" —he breathes deeply, feeling John's breath on his neck. He's not completely inclined but the heat of his body burns her in leaps and bounds as he keeps his eyes on the screen.

—Laswell sent me some things, information. The same thing you did -.

-But better -.

—No, not better —he murmurs —Shepherd sent information too. Did you read the memo? —.

—Mmm — Leah reads the screen — pure shit —.

John laughs in a low, hoarse voice.

"Yes, pure shit," he murmurs, looking at her profile, he can almost feel her trying to stay still in her seat, her hands itching to put it on his wide, meaty, soft thighs. Her mouth is dry and she is not ashamed of the way he is looking at her, desire burning in every pore of her skin.

—Is that why you're in a bad mood? —she asks, this time turning her face to find John Price's closer than normal—.

—Maybe—he feels the heat of her breath, the heat of her body enough to drive him crazy.

-Because? — It's like a random question, as if it were just to say something in the middle of the tortuous silence between the two of them —.

"You said it, it's bullshit." John snorts through his nose and leans back against the back of the chair, his arm going behind Lea's back, she sees his hand out of the corner of her eye. He doesn't touch it but it is there, leaning on the back of his chair.

Leah frowns at the screen and leans forward. His hair falls on his chest at the movement and he clicks on several pages, John sees his legs crossed in those dark jeans, his elbow on his legs, his chin on the palm of his hand as he clicks and looks at the screen.

Suddenly Leah looks at him and her gaze makes him feel a little dizzy.

—It's bullshit—he shrugs his shoulders—I'm crossing my fingers that Laswell gives us the go-ahead tomorrow.

—You want some action, don't you? — he chuckles — the emotion, mmm…

-You do not? —she raises an eyebrow in his direction—you've been stuck among piles of shitty papers for months.

—Maybe—his mouth is dry, his body on fire from the heat of Leah's body. It's burning because of him. His thoughts lead him to see her lips again, imagining what it would be like to touch her, every part of her sweet body. He feels his breath catch in his throat when he looks into her eyes again. His breath warm and trembling as he barely breathes.

Lea smiles but doesn't know what else to say, it's as if the words float in the air and she can't grab them to make them sound through her lips. John puts the glass of whiskey on the table and lets his hand fall to her legs, to Leah's legs, without touching. He just slides them until he grabs her thin fingers.

—You have such pretty lips… — he smiles ironically — Don't you feel like kissing me? — His teeth shine white and his voice is a hum of breaths that come in short bursts. His eyes are locked on her lips, locked on her eyes that remind him of the chocolates he always sees when passing by the cafeteria at London Central Station, mmm yes, maybe he'll buy some for her another day. "Like you say?" that saying…?

"He who doesn't risk doesn't cross the river," she whispers breathlessly, focused on John's fingers playing with hers, her body burning for him.

—Exactly—John smiles slyly and leans forward, taking a risk. Her hand closes around Leah's fingers and she closes her eyes.

Feel the heat of his lips, the distance no longer exists. Relief floods his soul, as if Leah's lips were a balm that makes him feel missed. Her hand slides up her arm until it reaches her shoulder, soft, tender caresses as Leah's lips move over hers, sweet, soft, slow.

He moves his lips over hers again and again, slowly. His hand goes up to touch her hair, caressing it as if it were porcelain. His fingers between the blonde strands of her hair and he holds her there. Her breath warms her lips as she feels Leah's hands on the hard muscles of her arms as if she's afraid to touch further.

She is the first to part their lips and he doesn't stop her. John lets his hand fall from her hair and her arms as he listens to the wild beating of her heart, her short breathing as he looks into her eyes.

Leah looks at him for a few seconds before standing up calmly, her fingers touching her lips as she looks at him, fixated on him as he steps back and John doesn't stop her from leaving. He sees her go towards the door and disappear after closing it.

John stays in the chair, his eyes filled with a desire and a feeling that swirls in his burning chest, his hand hitting his ribcage and rubbing as if it can calm what he feels inside. He reaches forward for the glass of Whiskey and sips as he tries to cool his head for a moment, but he still feels Leah's lips on his, he can almost taste her.

Damn all this time he was ignoring those sweet lips…

Chapter 5:

—Yes, yes — Leah had the phone pressed to her ear with her arm while she finished adjusting her military boots on the bed — Thanks Kate, I'll go tell them right now —.

He hangs up and finishes tying his boots, grabs his dark green jacket and quickly puts it on to go out. He rushes to John's office but when he arrives he only sees Gaz sitting in the chair half asleep.

—And John? —he asks holding the door open. Gaz scratches his eyes, looking at her sleepily.

"I thought you were going to know," he shrugged his shoulders mockingly and she just looked at him witheringly. "I wasn't with you?" —.

—No—he sighs—Ghost and Soap? —.

"They just arrived, they're coming here."

Leah nods and heads back the way she came, shuffling across the floor toward John's room, knocking twice before checking to see if the handle is open. She swallows slowly as she remembers what had happened last night, the way he looked at her, his lips. His touch… His body shudders but he still opens the door slowly and peeks out carefully.

John comes out of the bathroom adjusting the watch on his wrist. He is wearing his military suit and his hat is resting on the bed. When he sees her, his eyebrows rise slightly.

—Leah—.

—Sorry, I knocked but…

-Do not worry It's OK. Come in—he circles the bed and walks over to her slowly, Leah shrinks as his large body approaches her as the sensations of the previous night overwhelm her—Is everything okay? —.

Don't you remember that I kissed you?

-If everything is fine. Very well indeed - she takes a breath trying to keep her eyes on John's - Laswell called, everything is ready to go to Paris, it's a forest far from the city, a warehouse that may be guarded by Hadid's men, but … —.

John's eyes stay on her, on her body and the way he tries to control her. She can feel her pulse beating faster and her mouth slowly drying out.

-Yeah? —.

"I need you to handle this John," she clears her throat, "and give the order to leave."

—Sure—his eyes land on hers and she can feel the heat of his gaze. He steps close to her and touches her hand, gripping her fingers just like he did the night before, caressing her fingers as if he's afraid they'll break. She can feel her body turning on little by little. "You're doing it well," she murmurs, getting closer, her other hand rests on Leah's waist while she looks at her from above. "This thing about… organizing things."

—John… —she is blushing, but fighting with herself—.

—Hmm? — John runs his hand up her arm, his fingers on her neck moving up to her chin. She narrows her eyes as she feels the touch of his calloused hands on her face.

—Everything is ready, Gaz must be preparing the Helicopter, we have to… go —.

—And aren't we going to talk about the kiss you gave me last night? —His voice is hoarse and his breath warms his lips. Her brown eyes look at him with adoration.

John's fingers brush his cheek.

—John…

He looks down at her lips and kisses her slowly. His hand holds his face with no intention of wanting to end it. Leah's heart beats hard against her chest, she hesitates as if she were going to back away but John puts his arm around her, holding her against his body and kisses her for a long time, savoring her as if he were holding back the desire to devour her. He feels his body burn as he brushes his teeth with his tongue asking her to go further.

Leah moans against his mouth as her hands grip the fabric of his military clothing, crumpling the fabric as if the life depended on it.

For a moment she lets him intensify the kiss and her thoughts become clouded as their tongues dance with each other, she feels it and knows she needs it. However, he pulls away, gasping for air. His hands are spread over his chest pushing back slightly.

—Mmm—John looks at Leah's lips slightly swollen from his kisses, his fingers caress her lower lip slowly, his arm around her is hard and he has no intention of letting her go. His eyes move to yours, his breathing is labored, his lips parted.

He wants her again.

He turns her in a single movement, carefully placing her against the wall, leans down, brushing his lips with hers but doesn't get closer.

“We have to go,” Leah gasps. “…

"Mmm…" he grunts as she feels through the palm of her hands how his hard chest rises and falls.

With a lot of willpower, John lets her go. Releasing little by little with a lot of pain. He watches her regain her composure while he still doesn't want to deal with his emotions.

"Okay," Leah clears her throat and heads toward the door, but looks at him before opening it.

"We'll talk about this later," John tells her with a neutral expression, approaching her.

—Yes—Leah opens the door before he grabs it again and as she walks in front of him she smiles like a fool.

As John walks behind her, his hungry eyes admire her figure. Her curves, the way she falls into those tight jeans. He shakes his head, running his hand over his face. Leah is one of the few women in there who doesn't wear a lot of military clothing, maybe because she's not quite a soldier, because she's also CIA. But John loves seeing her in those half-tight jeans.

The only thing he thinks about when he goes after her is to hold her against a wall again and kiss her. But he swallows and takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

Upon arriving at the hangar, they meet Gaz, Ghost and Soap and Alejandro.

The latter looks at Leah with surprise and John notices how Leah opens her eyes as if she had seen a ghost.

"Leah?" — Alejandro passes by Ghost and approaches with a smile —.

-Alexander! — Leah runs towards him hugging him by the neck. John stands still next to Gaz watching the scene with his jaw clenched — What…? — Leah hangs on his neck — How…? —.

—Ah, the boys mentioned that they needed help so — Alejandro shrugged his shoulders as she looked him in the face — Not annoying, right, Cap? — Alejandro tilted his head to look at Price —.

—Of course not — Stoick responds — I suppose you're aware — John Price looks away from them and Leah gets off Alejandro's neck without realizing that John is jealous, of course, because he hides it very well while giving him his back and puts on his military equipment in one go.

—Of course, of course — Ghost approaches Alejandro and Soap and they prepare everything to get on the helicopter. Leah, smiling, approaches the table to take her outfit and put it on, however it takes a little work for her to find the bodices to adjust it on her hips.

John turns and watches her struggle against the straps and approaches silently. He grabs her hips and puts his arms around her as she freezes, with one tug he adjusts the straps and she's almost out of breath.

—Is it like this or is it too tight, Miss Carlsen? —he whispers hoarsely, leaning towards her ear—.

"Very… tight," she murmurs and hears him growl, a low, rough growl that vibrates in his throat as she loosens the straps a little. Leah takes a breath, turning to him with a frown. “What's wrong?” —.

John looks at her without saying anything, takes his weapons and puts on his hat almost without blinking. He quietly turns to the helicopter while everyone is there.

When she gets to the helicopter, Gaz helps her get on and Leah slides inside, sitting next to the window next to Alejandro. He leans towards her, almost shouting over the noise of the rotors and propellers.

—I'm glad to see you little one! —she exclaims, John hears through the headphones and stares at them as he sits in front of her. Leah looks at Alejandro with a smile.

-Me too! — She smiles and her gaze goes forward, John is squeezed by the window in front of her, Gaz and Soap are at her side.

He stares at her like he's making fun of something.

-Moved? —she sees him raise an eyebrow—.

"Very much." His face tenses under the weight of his gaze, as if they were playing tag.

The helicopter rises, the base is just a point in the middle of nowhere from above. Leah looks back at him, John has his head against the back wall, eyes closed and hands on his legs.

Leah shivers helplessly and looks out the window, biting her lip as if that will help calm her mind or her thoughts that move and stir around her.

At other times he would be the type to just keep his mind focused on working on what should really matter, but right now he's trying hard not to grab Alejandro and pull him away from Leah to take his place, put his hand on her. her thigh and growl in Alejandro's direction so he knows she is his.

The thought makes him laugh at how ridiculous it looks and he opens his eyes, seeing her as a hard hit to his balls. She looks out the window down, her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail as she holds the gun firmly in her hands.

Let his eyes caress your body surreptitiously and your mind be filled with fantasies. How did he let everything spill out of nowhere? The way he felt about her was like she had exploded through the door.

The trip lasts a long time and although John fights not to fall asleep, he does. When he wakes up he sees Leah leaning against Alejandro's shoulder, sleeping. He opens his lips as if to shout at her but his voice gets stuck in his throat and Gaz nudges him.

"We're getting there," he looks at him half-disoriented and nods, swallowing slowly as he holds his gun in his hands and breathes deeply before looking out the window.

Stay focused and alert is your biggest motto. Your feelings and emotions cannot cloud your good judgment. So avoid looking at her the rest of the way.

When the Helicopter lands, Leah wonders how they'll make the convictions now. Since the group is used to working among themselves without Alejandro, what she sensed could unbalance the movements she was used to having with them.

Once downstairs, John already had everything planned.

Gaz and Alejandro would go straight to the warehouse and infiltrate inside until they reached the agreed point. Ghost and Soap would stay up high to keep watch around.

John stared at her and then at his companions.

—Leah and I will go to the forest downstream, go around the perimeter and we will meet at the shed — everyone nodded — be alert and focused —.

"Yes, sir," they murmured in unison and Leah saw her friends run towards where John indicated, she also saw John calmly puff the smoke from his cigar and his blue eyes looked at her through the darkness of the forest.

—Do you hear me? — John murmured through the headphones to the others, everyone responded affirmatively and John nodded to himself — Okay — he took a breath while holding his gun and when he turned he found Leah looking around — stay close — he whispered, trying to take the role that he used to take, being Captain, being Chief. But when he saw her slide towards him his heart tightened in his chest as if he wanted to put her under his arms and not let anyone touch her - stay alert -.

"Yes, sir," she said. At John's surprised expression Leah shrugged her shoulders - sorry, habit -.

—It's okay, it's as it should be — He takes a deep breath, fighting with himself —.

Leah looks at him strangely, a bitter feeling filling her nervous system. She shakes her head to clear her thoughts and follows him through the forest. It's not long until they see the structure, she crouches next to a tree, turns on the night vision to look around and then the sniper.

“Two guards outside, four inside,” he murmurs to John.

He nods.

Price: Bravo five, here bravo six, do you copy me? Gaz: Copied, we're in. Price: Good.

John looks at Leah and she nods, a tactical gesture she has committed to memory.

"Cut off the heads," John murmurs and she adjusts the franc in her hands, adjusts the sights and fires. The two men fall dead to the ground. John puts a hand on his arm - good job - they both nod and move towards the building -.

John shoots the light poles, turning them off, moving through the darkness they sneak into the building. It doesn't take long for them to meet up with Gaz and Alejandro. The four of them are against a wall waiting for the next move. But things don't look very good, there are more enemies than they thought there were.

"There are at least thirty," Gaz mutters, looking over the edge, "not counting the trucks outside."

—We will make it—John reloads his silencer weapon—the objective is in the subway cell—he slides his fingers across the screen of his phone looking at the graphics—Gaz and Alejandro, stay here. Leah—a nod indicates the order and the woman nods firmly, sliding with him down the narrow hallway toward the door—.

John gestures to her to be alert and watch when she sees someone out of the corner of her eye, John pushes her against the wall trying to stay still. Her eyes watch him closely, her breaths coming in gasps.

When the shadow passes, Leah moves a little away from John and his grip, he opens the subway door and kills two guards who appear on the other side. Leah slides over another enemy, her knife digging into the hard flesh and bones of the man's head as it falls to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

John looks at her as if he were seeing something amazing and a smile crosses his lips.

Concentrating again, they go down the stairs and enter the underground. John and Leah take down more enemies as they make their way to the cells, opening them one by one.

Leah kicks the penultimate one, a bandaged man is sitting on the bed. His hands are bloody and he is barefoot.

She whistles at John and he approaches to look at him, they don't have to say anything to know who is the target. A worker who has information, who has worked with Graves.

At that moment, something similar to a bomb explodes not far away, John and Leah fall to the ground with debris falling around them. He falls on her with the need to protect her. They try to communicate with the rest of the team but for some reason the radios don't work.

While they are trying to leave, they meet Gaz who tells them that she has broken up with Alejandro and that she doesn't know where he is because the radios don't work. He also tells them that he found the missiles they are building.

—Take him out of here, take him alive — John puts his hands on Gaz's shoulders — look for the others, and get out of here now —.

Gaz nods hesitantly, but grabs the bandaged man and forces him to walk away from them.

John turns to Leah who is looking for the door where the missiles are. He rushes to her grabbing her elbow pulling her towards him.

"We have to get out of here," he says urgently, but Leah denies.

—We can't go and leave this here John —she looks around, piles of empty barrels but in the background, almost in the darkness, blue containers appear before her eyes —.

"We have to go," he repeats, but she lets go and denies.

—You go, make sure the equipment is okay. I… I'll see how I destroy them.

She moves forward and John frowns at her, processing her attitude and what she apparently wants to do. He shakes his head groggily and approaches her again.

"It's too risky, Leah," he follows her as she kicks the barrels, throws folders in search of information.

—We can't go away and leave this like this.

—We have the objective, we must go.

"Go away," she continues searching until she stops in front of the containers.

John runs a hand over his face.

—You are disobeying orders from your superior —.

—Since when are you such a dictator? — She turns to him putting her hands on his belt, John opens his eyes thinking something else and when she removes one of the tools that John uses to open locks he rolls his eyes —.

—It's an order, if you don't obey you will be punished Leah —.

—Well, I don't care—she puts the tool in the lock and kicks it, the container door opens wide and they both stare at what's inside, two missiles. One finished and another… almost half built. Leah sighs, looking at him.

—Don't say anything—He shakes his head, looking around when he feels Leah take off her backpack and dig inside—Really? —.

"It's the only way," she responds, pulling out bombs.

—They are not under control Leah, you put them on and we will have twenty seconds to get out of here. And do you have any idea how long it will take us to get out of here? —.

"Well, I guess we're going to have to take a chance."

John snorts.

"The hell with you, woman," although he denies, he knows it's the only solution, so he helps her place the bombs quickly. When they place the last one, they look into each other's eyes. "I have to admit your audacity."

She laughs but doesn't say anything.

John activates the bombs, grabs her hand and starts running with her pulling.

They can't make it to the stairs when the bombs explode. Smoke and debris fill the place and Leah falls to the side, she is sure she has hurt her head somewhere but she doesn't think about it as she tries to look for John in the fog of smoke and dirt. He stands against the wall, trying to breathe but even the air is toxic, his ears are slightly blocked and he hears the gunshots as if they were echoes. His vision doesn't clear at all and he tries to concentrate on coming to his senses.

John's large shadow crosses her gaze, grabbing her by the shoulders, he shelters her behind his back while she sees him shoot, she hears him shout something, but she can't hear him. John pushes the escape doors and they go outside, the gunshots getting louder as Leah hears again.

—You have to run now! — he shouts at her, grabbing her hand — Come on, come on — she shakes her head, they go into the darkness of the forest, running along the paths, running, running, running, until the building, the fire and the shots are just a far point in his sight —Don't stop! - he shouts, pulling her -.

The cold hits her face, but the heat from the adrenaline of running keeps her warm.

They run, until the sounds of gunshots are just echoes.

Leah stops bracing her hands against her knees, panting. John is still in front of her, his blue eyes looking at her in the darkness.

"They'll be fine," he whispers with a broken voice. "They'll be fine."

Leah swallows, looking over her shoulder, cursing under her breath. Yes, she knows her friends will be okay. Has to follow.

—Leah—she feels John's fingers hovering around her arm—come on, we have to continue.

It was very cold. John knew that at that time of year in Paris, it snowed.

He had to find shelter soon.

Chapter 6

Leah doesn't know how far she has walked, but she can't feel her legs as she continues to do so, trying to keep up with John, wondering if he isn't tired, although she can see that he is evidently panting as the minutes pass much more than before.

She tries to concentrate, her hands holding her gun as she follows him silently. It is evident that they have separated from the group and that she feels disoriented, and if it weren't for the fact that John is ahead of her, she would be curling up on the floor and letting herself die. Cold dead.

The damn radios don't work and they're in the middle of a fucking forest in a country they've never been to before. The lack of signal has caused John to almost break the emergency radios they had in their backpack. And to make it worse, the cold has gotten rough. The snow started falling a long time ago and every step is a pain in her bones that makes her shudder.

And yet, as she follows him she is thinking about John's kiss. The one she hasn't been able to stop thinking about since that night and now that they were stranded in the middle of nowhere, she wondered if he was going to continue with that Capitan attitude all the time or was he going to come hug her to warm her and kiss her.

"There's a river to the south," John murmurs, walking with his eyes straight ahead. "There should be some cover or…" He turns over his shoulder to look at Leah and when he sees her, he stops dead. His expression reflects concern mixed with softness.

—Yes—Leah responds, watching as her feet begin to leave marks due to the snow that is accumulating, a gust of vision envelops them and Leah has to hug herself with her eyes closed to tolerate the cold that she tolerates less and less, so In fact, he's shivering and despite the gloves his fingers and toes feel colder than a penguin's—or maybe finding shelter or something, whatever.

John stops causing Leah to crash into his chest and stumble back but he grabs her arm. His brow is slightly furrowed, his blue eyes boring into hers, his voice barely above a whisper.

—Come here—John pulls her towards his body. He hugs her and rubs her arms and back trying to give her some kind of warmth. Leah closes her eyes against the comfort and sensation.

"Although I like this a lot, I think we should move on."

The touch between the two is electric, intimate. John's hands run up and down his back. His fingers caressing her, as if that does any good or is just a lame excuse to have her close. Leah looks up at him. His gaze is penetrating on her.

—You need heat. "You can trust me for that," he whispers, pulling her closer to him.

Leah leans on his chest, for a few seconds it seems like she stops shaking. Her arms are ridiculously big and strong and protect her from the cold.

"I see that," he murmurs, "but we have to…" as soon as he moves away he begins to tremble. "Keep moving forward, come on." Leah pats John's chest, moving ahead of him.

John takes a deep breath and watches her walk like she's made of jelly, trying hard not to keep shaking.

—Are you avoiding me or something? —he asks, matching his pace.

—Avoiding you? John, I'm freezing to death.

He growls under his breath.

—How do you come to a place like this with a jacket as thin as that? —he looks at her—Where is your head lately? —.

"You don't want to know." John looks at her and chuckles. However, when Leah returns the flirtatious look, she staggers and John grabs her again.

"One step at a time," he warns her gently.

They walk several more kilometers, Leah no longer feels the cold on her face or her hands. He looks up past the tree trunks and steep hills and sees a small cabin in the middle of several trees. He grabs John by the arm, patting him almost on the verge of screaming, and points him in the direction of the cabin.

“Caba-cabaña,” she shivered, her arms clinging to herself. John puts his arm around her, pressing her against him, and rubs her arms.

"Fuck me," he says, laughing, "come on, let's go."

John pushes the old door open with one hand while making sure to get Leah inside to protect her from the wind.

"Stay here, I'll take a look at the outside."

Leah nods as she rubs her arms and her chin trembles, her teeth chattering. Look around. There is a large bed in the corner, a kitchen that probably doesn't work, another door that could lead to the bathroom, an old couch, and a table with two chairs by the window near the front door. It is small and probably long abandoned.

John enters, closing the door tightly, he locks it so that it does not open and he takes off his backpack and all the things that could get in his way. The first thing he does is take off his military equipment and then the jacket he is wearing underneath, he quickly puts it over his shoulders. Leah's shoulders and rubs her arms.

"You'll be fine," he encourages, looking into her eyes, both of them looking at a small fireplace on the side.

—We can't light it, if they see the smoke they could see us, if the boys aren't looking for us… — John caresses her back —.

—Shhh, I know. They will find us without smoke, I know — John has her against his chest and looks at the bed — Why don't you go to bed? Come - he approaches the bed and sits her on the edge, looks at some furniture near the wall, opens it and finds blankets -.

"Someone definitely lives here," Leah manages to say quickly before shivering again.

—We'll leave her a note when we leave or we'll become her friend by hook or by crook if she comes back—John winks and puts several blankets over her—that's it… you'll be fine.

"F-fuck John, I'm… I'm sorry," he's still shaking and rubbing his hands over his face, blowing breath between them as if that would help. John takes her hands. Small hands between huge hands. He rubs them against his while looking at her.

—I'm made for this, it's not fair to you — he laughs as if he were mocking, rubbing his hands against Leah's while he watches her smile from the side — You're like icicles.

She laughs looking down, the feeling of his large hands rubbing hers is so comforting. They are so warm…

"Take a breath," he whispers, "that's it."

His voice and warm hands calm her a little like rain after a storm. John leans down and places a tender kiss on her forehead.

"Rest," he whispers, caressing her back with one hand while still supporting her with the other.

“Hold me,” she says, as if she desperately needs to get her hands under John's clothes to feel his body heat.

John doesn't even doubt it. He throws himself on the bed and pulls her up while Leah puts her head between his chest and his arm. John caresses her arms as he wraps her in the blankets.

"It's okay," he whispers, "now rest a little. Are you warm now?" —.

Leah now doesn't know if she's shivering because of the cold or because of the naturalness with which John flirts. She wonders if he's conscious about the way he talks to her, like he wants to make her cringe all the damn time.

"Aha," he manages to say.

John hums quietly, a soft sound falling from his lips as his hand caresses her arms. His big, strong hands move with a gentle touch and she wants him to touch her under the covers, to give her warmth, body heat. But try to handle the situation without losing your mind because of what you are feeling. Besides the cold.

"I'm sorry for being so cold," she murmurs with her cheek against John's chest.

"You're freezing, there's no need to apologize."

Leah's hand resting on John's hard stomach is caught by John's free hand. He intertwines their fingers in a way to continue warming her up. Rub the backs of your fingers up and down.

"Mmm," Leah whispers, narrowing her eyes, her skin tingles in the areas he's touching her, her body getting incredibly hot.

"That's it," says John, "you're hot now."

Outside the wind whips against the house as if it were going to blow it down, the snow falls like there is no tomorrow, and the whistle of the wind that gets between the old wood of the house makes Leah shrink into John's lap.

—Tell me a story, whatever, I hate storms…

He smiles, his voice soft.

—Once upon a time there was a little girl… and she was cold. Like you. But she had a big, strong man. He put his arms around her and promised her that everything was going to be okay—John looks down at her and meets her brown eyes. His blue eyes studying her gaze in the darkness - and he believed him -.

"Ha, ha… that's funny," she laughs and snuggles further into his lap. Her little hands feeling the hard skin of her clothes. Will her skin be as warm as her hands? Suddenly the image of him in the darkness of his room at the base, with his chest exposed, makes his throat go dry.

John sighs, pulling her close to him, his arm wrapping around her even tighter and she hides her head under his chin as John's hand moves up to her neck, playing with the strands of her hair.

"I'll keep you warm, Leah." Just close your eyes. Everything will be fine. I promise -.

Leah relaxes, her body warming up, her legs intertwined with John's, his hand safe against her abdomen over her clothes, his strong arms protecting her. The sound of the wind and the blizzard is suddenly just a whisper as her eyes close and close until she falls asleep.

(…)

He opens his eyes with a wave of panic. There is no one next to him and there is silence and light. The first thing he does is sit down on the bed suddenly, evaluating its entire contour with his eyes.

He stops to look at the man hunched against the table, growling under his breath.

—John? —The Captain looks at her but concentrates again. Leah takes a while to realize it but when she does she notices that she is fighting with the radios.

John lets out a frustrated huff. He stops for a moment and his eyes linger on her. Sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing her arms, tucked into that too-big-for-her jacket of his that makes him smile.

-Did you sleep well? —.

"Yes," she murmurs, looking out the window. Outside everything is white and there is no seeing. Even the sun seems to be hot. Although he still trembles a little, it's actually due to the lack of John's body heat and he frowns as he looks at him again. "You didn't sleep at all, right?" —.

"Someone had to be alert and had to try to fix these shitty radios that…" John stops, looking at Leah with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude."

—I work surrounded by men, I listen to all kinds of things. A swear word doesn't scare me — she smiles warmly and John does so for a moment. However, go back to watching the radios — you should get some sleep now. You can't go without sleep.

—No, no… I need to fix this. Just warm up, I'm fine.

Leah rolls her eyes.

“Grumpy bear,” he mutters under his breath, looking out the window. She thinks he didn't hear her, but John slowly turns his face to Leah.

“Damn, I heard that,” he huffs in the most annoying but loving way possible. His blue eyes are on her and as much as he wants to continue fighting with the radios, he knows she's right. So she slowly gets up and sits next to Leah on the edge of the bed.

"I didn't say anything," Leah turns to look at him with feigned innocence.

—Yes, yes you did — He smiles as he rubs his hands along your arms — Are you still cold? —.

"Just a little bit," Leah shrugs her shoulders as John hugs her, giving her a kiss on the back of her head.

"Keep resting, we're going to be here for a long time." John huffs, sliding his arm away from Leah and stands up, but when he does, Leah's hand closes around his arm.

"Stay," she murmurs, looking at him almost with a shyness that makes him feel overwhelmed. He looks at her fingers on his arm and his breath catches in his throat, he sits up taking a deep breath, putting an arm around Leah's back again, pulling her closer to him.

His chest is warm and musky beneath the layers of clothing he's wearing. He slides onto the bed again, his large body stretching across it as he waits for her to do the same. Leah doesn't think about it for a second and crawls towards him, getting into his arms.

The contact instantly warms Leah and as he holds her her breathing becomes heavy.

When both are comfortable. John closes his eyes trying to sleep. Having Leah's body pressed against him is a challenge, especially not touching her as his thoughts are leading him to do. He is a trained and calculating man after all.

But with her he just wants to be John. Just John.

—You're so warm. "Like a stove," she says with her eyes closed, unconsciously turning, her face against his strong arm while John moves on her back to hug her and snuggle behind her.

-Yeah? — John laughs slowly, a hoarse laugh that leaves havoc on Leah's neck as their bodies fit together like two pieces of a puzzle —.

"Mmm yes, I could stay like this forever," he says with his eyes closed.

—Yes—John looks at the wall, feeling his ears get hot. She rubs Leah's arms as a distraction, but that makes it worse. The fire that burns in his chest for her is enormous.

-It is very cold -.

"Calm down," he says with a sigh, "You know?" Don't tell the others but… you're my favorite.

Leah turns her gaze slightly to look at him.

-Yeah? — he smiles, but immediately freezes when he feels John's air on his neck —.

—You are by far my favorite, Sergeant. For a country mile — John's voice is a thick, hoarse whisper as if he's holding breath. His eyes look at Leah's neck as if his fangs were coming out.

She swallows slowly knowing what she is doing and what she wants. She desperately needs him so she turns around again hugging him face to face, closes her eyes and brings her cheek closer to John's, sliding it over his beard.

"You're so warm," she whispers, feeling John's hands slide slowly along her waist.

John closes his eyes feeling her touch, his nose gets into Leah's hair inhaling her shampoo smell, she always smells of citrus and he loves it and now that he has her there in his arms, rubbing against him like a kitten looking for affection John feels like he's about to lose his mind.

—Leah…

—John… — Leah's hands slide over his broad shoulders over the thermal shirt, then she touches his neck, even feeling the veins in it. The pores of your skin. Leah isn't even breathing.

"Leah I…"

"Kiss me please," he begs, his voice like a moan coming from his throat, if he could kneel to ask for it, Jesus, he would do it "please…"

The corner of John's mouth twitches upward. His large hand covers Leah's entire back and his strong arms wrap around her carefully. He can feel her breath hitting his skin. He wants to kiss her, with every fiber of her skin, and his heart races in his chest as he presses his forehead against Leah's. Blue eyes staring at her almost breathless.

Then Leah kisses him. At first glance it looks like a clumsy, almost childish kiss, but when John puts his hand in her hair, moving it to intensify the kiss. A quiet sound escapes his throat, pleasure but also something that makes John's heart tremble with every soft movement of Leah's lips against his.

He smiles against her lips and combs her hair with his fingers, a tender, breathless caress.

—Damn Leah…

—John…

He laughs against her lips pressing them again. His hands run over Leah's body as if asking her permission while she grips her fingers into the fabric of his T-shirt and her tongue shyly slides into his mouth.

"Damn…" John murmurs.

His right hand slides over her waist caressing her waist. Slowly going down her thigh, leading her to place her leg over his and higher over his hips.

—John I…

"About that night Leah," he murmurs against his lips, which run down his chin toward his neck, his beard tickling Leah as he holds her hips with one hand.

-What about that? We kissed John… and I… you…

-Me what? — John steps away for just a moment to look at her with one eyebrow over the other —.

—I like you, I like you a lot—she looks at his lips, his blue eyes looking into hers—.

—Mmmm—John leans into his neck again, this time nibbling a little, as if he were tasting his flesh. Leah moans as John's hands slide over the fabric of her jeans, caressing her thighs and hips until they slip under her blouse, touching her skin — you're so soft.

"John…" She moves restlessly under his large body, her hands move along his back and soon get under his shirt. His skin is hard, hot.

"Leah, let me show you how much I like you," he says in a growl as he licks the entire length of her neck to her ear, making sure he hears her very well. "Yes?" Be a good girl and let me show you.

"Yes, yes," she opens her mouth as she feels John's fingers press against her hips, almost panting. John takes her face in one hand and kisses her passionately. His tongue thrusting into her mouth, exploring. Moaning.

For a moment there is nothing else but the two of them, rubbing, kissing. Moving their tongues fervently over each other's. She feels John's hardness hitting her which makes her moan.

—God, you're so sensitive… I never imagined that… — he slides his mouth down, licking her neck — that you were so sensitive Leah — his mouth lowers, his tongue licks her collarbone, he nibbles desperately as he touches her down — .

Her throat gets dry from thinking when she is wet. Which makes him pull away and get on his knees between her legs. Leah opens her eyes disoriented and her heart stops when John pulls his shirt over his head.

His hard, wide body looms before her. Beautiful dark and light ones in the middle of his pecs… those marked muscles. Those strong arms. It makes your throat dry.

John leans over her again, biting Leah's bottom lip and she drops her hands to his shoulders touching his skin. Several scars cross his skin in various places and he finds it so fucking sexy that he can't stop touching it.

—Are you going to be good to me? —.

"Yes," he murmurs, watching John go down his neck, kissing his chest over his clothes, lifting his blouse to kiss his belly that contracts when he feels his beard. "John…" his cheeks turn red just by feeling him go down and An unexpected scream leaves her throat when John pulls her pants and panties down at the same time — John…

"Shh…" he whispers, shaking his head. He takes off her boots and socks quickly, the same with the rest of the clothes, Leah closes her legs embarrassed but John separates them, burying his fingers in her thighs — Jesus Christ Leah — looks at her, licking her lips — Jesus Christ — she says as if to him. same…

—John… p-please…

John sees her cover her mouth and as he leans towards her legs, imagining her taste, he removes his hand from her mouth.

—No doll, you're going to scream. I want to hear you scream, yeah? — Judgment leaves Leah's body and her eyes roll into her head as the captain's tongue slides along her vagina while he moans with pleasure —.

Chapter 7

“John, n-no,” she sighs, her throat closing, her body tensing as he slides his arms under her thighs to hold her close and still.

—Mmm… —she hears him moan, while she squirms. Captain Price's tongue slides between Leah's folds with expertise, determination and boldness.

Jesus, no one would think you had that language, Captain. Leah thinks as she grits her teeth trying to control herself.

In her short 28 years not a man had touched her that way. Definitely not like him and he hadn't had many lovers in his life so to speak. She was always very strict about it, no sex before the first date. But with John I was open-legged without an appointment or anything on the agenda.

Her eyes roll into her head as he sticks his tongue in and his fingers move slowly around her clit. Teasing her, having fun with her. But John's own moans are starting to drive her crazy.

"Oh John, p-please," she whispers, her voice is barely a whisper and every time she covers her mouth to scream, The Captain yanks it away and nibbles at it, scolding her.

Leah felt herself unraveling, her heart beating like crazy with every lick, breath, or bite. John Price's huge hands rise from time to time upwards, touching the edge of her breasts.

"Mmm…" he moans again.

Heat begins to build up in your belly and your hips begin to move involuntarily.

In less than five minutes Leah finds herself moaning and whimpering while he is buried between her thighs. His body trembles, collapsing as the desire warms his belly and expands around him.

"That's it," he murmurs with a touch of calm and passion that shines in his eyes when they look at her. John smiles as he looks up at her and pulls away just a little, leaning his body over her. His hand softly hovering over her neck and rising to her lips, putting his fingers in Leah's mouth - Doll… - he grunts as he takes out his fingers and moves closer, kissing her mouth as if he were eating her alive, she moans against him. mouth. Feminine and sensual moans, as sweet or sweeter than what he imagined Leah could make, lost, he lowers his hand and fucks her slowly with the same fingers - Fuck… - he murmurs - you're so ready for me. Tell me how ready you are — she murmurs with her lips on Leah's neck — are you ready for me? —.

"Y-yes," she gasps, her body hunching over him, her moans incoherent, her hands on John's shoulders.

-Say it -.

"I'm ready, ready for you John," she says barely in a whisper, John's growl coming out of her throat like a growl that gets lost in her mouth.

It doesn't take him long to get rid of the rest of his clothes off the bed, while Leah's head is spinning from the orgasm she just had with John's tongue, she is dragged by his legs to the edge of the bed and makes a loud noise. I scream in surprise. He kisses her slowly, passing his tongue over her lips. A tender, romantic kiss that turns into a passionate one as he sticks his tongue into her mouth, moaning on her tongue as he rubs his huge, thick erection over Leah's wet folds.

“J-John,” she moans, her nails digging into his shoulders, slowly but enough for John to moan with a smile.

He pulls away, spreading Leah's legs with his hands, making sure she's spread wide open for him. She takes his erection and slides it through her folds, torturing her clit as Leah nearly cries.

"I don't have condoms," he moans almost breathlessly.

-I inject -.

"Still…" John bites his lip, the thick tip of his penis pressing at Leah's entrance making her whimper.

He looks into her eyes from above and what they want is implicit, of course. If it's for both of their approval, Leah doesn't mind if he cums inside, but she wouldn't mind if he did it outside either. For John, however, it is a topic that causes a stir. It makes him nervous but the mere idea of ​​seeing her full of him anywhere on her body makes his brain scramble.

"P-please," she moans and John narrows his eyes, taking his member, sinking into her with his eyes closed.

"Jesus… God… you're so… you're so…" The words are lost in his mouth, dying when he leans down, grabbing one of her legs to wrap it around his hips and kisses her. Mmm… Are you okay? — he asks in a whisper, Leah nods, biting her tongue — Can… can you do more?

"Yes, just… just do it," she slides her nails down his back and John's skin ripples with her touch, pushing deeper into her until she takes him completely. "You're so…" she murmurs into his neck, inhaling. the smell of her hair — so good…

And then the eternal sway begins, the rough, soft hands on her body, grabbing her breasts while she rocks as if there were no tomorrow. A string of curses spill from Leah's lips as he pushes against her, biting her skin, kissing, licking. The moans are muffled by the sound of their fur.

There, alone in the middle of the morning, surrounded by snow and trees. The birds fly out of their tops at Leah's moans, John's growls take her to ecstasy, make her lose her sanity.

Leah's legs tighten around his hips, feeling her tighten around him makes him slam hard into her.

"Oh Leah," John's voice is low as he squeezes her between his hands, while his mouth runs over her neck, her collarbone, while his tongue swirls around her nipples.

Leah kisses him, her hands gripping his hard, strong back. The way John moves against her makes her lose her mind. She moans loudly in his ear, digging her nails into him. The movements become strong, wild and are joined by grunts and meaningless words.

—John…

—You're so pretty… — he moans in her ear — so soft Leah…

—John… —.

She twitches and John feels her, making her wince.

—Mmm—He hits harder, satisfied with having found his point, that point that every time he presses Leah's eyes fly over her head.

—Mmm John! -.to…

"Say it," he pushes hard, concisely.

—John! —.

John bites her neck and his tongue licks the mark, Leah moans, her legs shaking and her body arching. His nails slide down John's back and dig into his ass.

-Hmm…

—Oh John… John…

"Mmmm I like my name on your lips doll," he whispers, biting her lower lip, "that's it, that's it…"

Leah moans louder and louder and the orgasm rocks her again, warming her and making her shiver. John wraps his arms around her as he pushes against her, their bodies pinking as he gets harder and harder.

—Mmm… — he kisses her with a passion that she has never felt before, everything has been much more than she has even imagined — Leah…

She looks up at him and John stands up, holding her legs as he pulls out of her, John's hand wrapping around his hard member as he masturbates until his moans make Leah want to come just listening to him.

Then the hot, white thing falls on her belly and she looks into his eyes while he does it, she licks her lips watching it, watching it cum all over her hot, panting body.

—Oh God… — John murmurs looking at her body full of her — honey… you look… — he squints his eyes still moaning —.

The corners of Leah's mouth turn upward. He's sweating, he's sweating and it must be at least two degrees below zero. He gasps, trying to catch his breath, and closes his eyes for a second, listening to John Price's breathing. She opens them when she feels that he is on top of her cleaning her body, she looks at him almost adoringly.

The image of a man like him bending over her cleaning the remains of his semen on her belly and thighs with such dedication is worthy of a photograph. Even her short hair looks messy as she runs her fingers through it after finishing and tosses the piece of cloth off the bed before crawling back to her and kissing her arms all the way to her neck.

-Are you OK? — He wraps his arms around her and turns her, pressing Leah's back to his chest, and she begins to suspect that this might be her favorite position for curling up in bed. Which makes her smile - She raises her hands - she does and he covers them both with the sheets and blankets - that's it -.

—I'm fine. Are you? —she adjusts to him. John's body is still warm on his back and his arms wrap around him better than a blanket.

—Mmm—he buries his face between her neck and her hair—I am.

There is a slight silence between the two of them, dozing and taking in what they just did. They only listen to the sound of nature outside and their breathing that little by little begins to return to a normal rhythm.

—John? — Leah strokes John's arm under her head —.

-Hmm? —.

The words get stuck in her throat and John feels her tense in his arms. So he opens his eyes, caressing her skin with his fingers.

-Is that I…

—You're worried, aren't you? What are you going to do now that you've slept with old Captain Price?

Leah turns in his arms to face him, although the first thing she sees is his hard chest and her small fingers shyly trace his scars, although her gaze on John's blue eyes is determined.

"You're not old," he furrows his eyebrows.

—Leah—he caresses her face with the back of his hand—don't worry about it. Is it something you regret? — she shakes her head — then nothing happens. Is it something you don't want anyone to know? —.

—Do you want anyone to know? —.

—I don't care—he shrugs his shoulders—maybe we can keep it between us for a while but eventually they're going to find out, you know? —John's fingers slide into Leah's blonde hair—.

—And that doesn't bother you? —.

—Do others know? —.

-Yeah -.

"It's going to bother me when they stare at you blatantly in my presence and I have to grit my teeth and have to remind you who you belong to," he says so sweetly that Leah laughs but sees honesty in his eyes and that makes her purse her lips. "It doesn't bother me." Let them know that you are mine. Because you're mine — John pauses with his hand around her cheeks — Because you're mine, aren't you? —.

"I love being yours," she smiles, "I've wanted to be for a while." John raises an eyebrow and his throat resonates loudly as he sees her red cheeks.

"I may have an idea, Leah." You gave me very suggestive looks, what do you want me to tell you - she opens her mouth to say something, but John grabs her cheeks, opening her mouth - you have always seemed too dangerous to me to look at for too long. I knew you would be one of those women who you look in the eyes and you are lost.

-That? —she almost laughs—And have you met many of those women? —he says with some suspicion—.

—Many, but not one like you—Leah rolls her eyes and John laughs, drawing her face closer to him by her cheek—it's a joke, Leah I just want to flirt with you. I have not met women like you, I like you, I like you a lot.

She looks at his lips and closes the distance by kissing him and pressing her naked body to him. John grunts, he's a little tired but when she tangles her legs against his and her nails tear the skin of his back, he knows that tiredness is overrated.

(…)

Somewhere in Paris a group of men organizes to find their captain.

Gaz is communicating with Laswell after the asset is taken away for questioning, talking to Laswell to send out the search teams while Soap spins the knife in the air with his elbow on one leg and his chin on his palm.

—Maybe they're fucking behind a tree or…

"For God's sake, Johnny," Ghost throws a rock at him, but Alejandro, who is trying to read the map Gaz gave him, looks at Soap with one eyebrow over the other.

—Fucking? —.

Soap looks at him.

—It's a joke, a man and a woman like Leah lost in the middle of nowhere — he shrugs his shoulders — I don't know, think about it. You don't have to think about it much really.

—Plus they both have a lot of chemistry—Ghost also shrugs his shoulders while Alejandro furrows his eyebrows at his comments. Gaz approaches after talking to Laswell on the radio — What did he say? —.

—The search team is on the way, but they're going to take too long. It's been one night already, they could be dead.

—How little faith Gaz — Soap puts away the knife and takes the map from Alejandro — if they fled upriver they could have followed the short path — Gaz leans down to look —.

—But if they went for the other one? —.

—Then we split up, it's already stopped snowing and it's not going to do it again — Ghost murmurs — Soap and I are going down the path to the river, you and Alejandro go the other way. If they don't find anything at this point, we communicate and we meet here at dusk.

"Solid," Soap nods, adjusting his weapon.

The four shake hands, grab their weapons, backpacks and equipment and prepare to search.

(…)

—Okay then, favorite music? — Leah is lying next to John, their legs intertwined, they have dressed because of the cold but you still remain lying together under the sheets —.

—The one from the eighties, in particular… anyone — John has one hand supporting his head while he looks at her from the side —.

"Say one, come on."

—Well… Any Rupert Holmes.

Leah tilts her head.

—And who… is it?

—You don't know who…? Damn Leah, I'm going to have to teach you about music.

-Sing a song -.

John starts laughing.

-No -.

-Oh, come on. Aren't English men daring? Sings -.

—No—he growls—Tell me your favorite song, if you sing it I'll sing it. Let me guess, you grew up in the 2000s, Britney Spears? —.

Leah laughs.

—Everyone likes Britney —.

—Not if it makes you want to shave, honey —John reaches into his backpack and takes out the last of their food, the last can of disgusting vegetables. Leah wrinkles her nose.

"I'd rather die of hunger," he pushes him away with his hand.

"Don't be stubborn, it's an order," he grunts and opens the can. "Come on, just a little."

Leah eats a little then John, both suppressing the urge to vomit. But they laugh about the situation minutes later. When they see that the sun is setting Leah looks at the broken radios.

-And if…?

—We are not going to go anywhere, if they look for us they will find us here. My boys are smart, they will find us.

Leah huffs and snuggles into his chest with her eyes half lidded.

—Now tell me, sweet or salty? —John asks him—.

—Sweet — she shudders — Oh my God, lemon pie, coffee with two sugar, raspberry cake, oh shit… I need to eat that. Donuts filled with strawberry jam.

"Disgusting," he wrinkles his nose and Leah looks at him.

—You hate sugar — John raises his eyebrows in surprise — I've been working with you for years, bringing you coffee to the office or sitting next to you in meetings or lunches.

—You were taking your notes, Hmm? - he caresses her face - I can see it…

—Mmm—she leans over him and kisses him.

—Mmm—his arms surround her and he turns to stand on top of her—I like it.

(…)

They have been walking in the dark forest for several hours, Alejandro is energetic, just what Gaz needs to not stop his pace searching and searching incessantly. However, Alejandro cannot get the doubt out of his chest.

"Hey Garrick," she says as he walks ahead pointing his gun and flashlight in the dark.

-That? —.

"Do Price and Leah have something?" —.

Gaz turns to look at him with furrowed eyebrows.

-Because?

—Soap and Ghost kept insinuating things and… —.

-You like her? —.

"We have been friends for a long time."

—I know, he told me about you — Gaz looks a little suspicious — he really appreciates you.

—Ya, I know — Alejandro looks ahead and sees a cabin hidden between trees and snow —.

The question is not answered and Gaz is grateful that he doesn't ask again and hopes that whatever they are doing if they are there, that they aren't fucking. Although inside he would be laughing if something like that were to happen.

(…)

John is enthralled kissing Leah's neck, nibbling on it while his hands caress her breasts under her clothes and rubs against her slowly. Caresses, a tender game to kill time while you continue asking each other questions.

—Do you remember that? —Price nibbles on his neck—.

—From when Gaz fell from the helicopter? —John pulls away to look her in the eyes—.

"You should be more specific, honey," he says with a smile.

"Well, the time he fell out of the helicopter in Russia, when we were chasing the arms dealer."

—Ah, yes — John laughs as he continues nibbling and licking — yes.

They both laugh until they hear noise outside.

The two of them, like the trained soldiers that they are, move away from each other as quickly as they can and grab their weapons. Leah slides towards the door since she is barefoot without making a sound and John grabbing his gun wins on the other side. The footsteps are heard getting closer, John raises two fingers towards Leah which indicates that there are two people coming.

He puts a finger to his lips, his weapons in position.

The door opens and in the darkness a man points his gun everywhere, John jumps around the young man by the neck.

"I want there," John says, Leah points at the other but he grabs her without realizing who she is.

"Captain," Gaz raises his hands in defense and John immediately releases him.

"Just look," he laughs.

—Gaz! — Leah grabs his arm and hugs him —.

-Are you OK? — he asks, laughing — I see you more than fine — he raises an eyebrow at the captain who is sitting putting on his boots with a harsh laugh that breaks all schemes —.

"Alejandro," she hugs him.

"I'm glad to see you well Leah," he hugs her tightly. "You're not cold at all," he murmurs, taking her hands.

John walks over and drops the palm of his hand on Alejandro's shoulder.

"I took care of keeping her warm, Colonel Vargas," he winks as he picks up his backpack and looks at Leah, "get your things together, come on."

Leah turns red as a tomato and promises to get revenge for it later. John can't handle Alejandro's face and laughs in his face, with no intention of being mocking. Alejandro chuckles, trying to think it's just a joke, but his eyes follow John Price until he walks out the door with Gaz.

—Are you okay Ale? — Leah grabs his arm when he sees her ready to leave —.

"Yes," he says, looking at her curiously.

Gaz calls to them from outside and they leave, but when she closes the door behind her, John turns to her holding out a paper.

—I forgot this, for the owner of the cabin — Leah laughs and opens the paper.

"Of two crazy lovers who like him very much, Merci"

-What does it say? — Alejandro wants to know, but Leah doubles down —.

"Nothing important," she responds, laughing and going into the cabin again, when Alejandro comes out and Gaz is waiting for them ahead and John looks at her with his hands on his equipment on his chest. "What?" —.

"Nothing," he shrugs his shoulders with a smile that is barely visible.

Leah shakes her head and sets off, following Gaz and Alejandro, who contact Laswell to tell them that they are safe and returning to base in London.

Chapter 8

Leah and Captain Price have been seeing each other for about two weeks.

The vast majority of the time the man sneaks into Leah's room at night or they just go out for a drink like two good friends when the group wants to go out and have fun.

This morning, however, Leah gets up knowing that she will see little of John unless it is to pay him a short visit in his office.

"I won't do anything because I'll be at the base, I have work to do with the new ones, Kate."

—Someday you have to celebrate your twenty-ninth — Laswell sighs on the other line —.

—Anyway, do I have to be in your office tomorrow? To organize my times -.

—Yes, I need you to come and talk about something that has me worried, yes? —.

—As a friend or as a boss? — Leah crosses the hallway to the cafeteria to make a coffee, in the distance she sees Gaz waving a hand for her to come closer and she waves back to tell him to wait —.

"Like both," Laswell puts on his serious tone of voice and Leah snorts, she hopes it's not what she thinks because she and John have been quite careful not to let anyone see them.

In the morning Gaz and Soap went to sing happy birthday at their door, laughing while Ghost was there but not singing and with his eyes rolling and shaking his head while saying that they were ridiculous.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow then."

Leah hangs up on the call, puts the phone in the back pocket of her dark pants, and walks over to her friends who are waiting for her at the table.

-Surprise! — Gaz jumps from her seat and Soap reaches out to a piece of cake on the table with a candle — it's little, but with the heart — Leah laughs and pats Gaz's shoulder —.

—They didn't have to do it — Leah hugs Gaz — but thank you —.

Gaz and Soap exchange glances.

—Why don't you come to the bar tonight? We got drunk in your honor — Leah sits down, putting her coffee on the table, turning it thoughtfully — Come on! It will be like every year.

And it was true. Every year on her birthday she went to the bar with them. Only once did her birthday fall on her days off and she was alone in her apartment sinking into a bottle of wine. John would always go with them for a while, have a couple of drinks and leave.

This time Leah thought her birthday was going to be different. But John hadn't even said good morning to her and he didn't come to her room the night before. They didn't always have clear sex, but cuddling next to him was enough.

So she sighs, trying to deal with the silly feeling of feeling… a little ignored on the day she intended to be regaled by her secret lover.

-Yes, sure -.

Gaz and Soap high-fived and Ghost said something about drunks and Leah was deep in thought for a long time.

Gaz enters John Price's office around afternoon, as the sun is about to set. The boy is wearing dark military clothing, the ones they usually wear when there are no battles to fight.

The captain is engrossed in papers and eyes in front of the computer.

"Gaz," he murmurs without looking at him.

—Sir, let's go to the bar. Are you coming? —.

-To the bar? Why would they go to the bar one day in the middle of the week? Don't they have to train or make it more productive? —.

"Just for today, sir… you know, to celebrate Leah's birthday."

John leaves the papers in his hands. His eyes stop blinking and he looks at Gaz carefully.

—Ah—.

-He forgot? — Gaz raises an eyebrow. He is the only one, even though neither Leah nor John have told him anything, who knows about their secret relationship. Maybe Laswell, once John slipped past his lips and called her, honey without realizing it, and Kate's eyebrow rose curiously at the sight of Leah's red cheeks.

"Of course not," he continues working trying to hide it. How could he forget something so important?

—So you're going? —.

-Yes Yes. I'll catch up with them - he waves his hand for Gaz to leave and when Gaz leaves John grabs his cell phone almost desperately and calls -.

Kate Laswell responds to the third ring.

"No questions, just answer," John speaks with a calm voice.

—Anything you want to tell me? —.

—I said without questions—John clears his throat—Leah's favorite flowers—.

John hears Kate snort and then Kate's wife's voice is clearly heard.

-The daisies! —Allie exclaims.

—Shh Allie! — Laswell scolds her but then Allie takes the phone from his wife —.

—Hello John, nice to greet you. Are you dating our beloved Leah? — John almost got stuck — you don't have to answer, it's quite obvious you're happier than usual and less grumpy, that's progress since you already know… —.

—I need a place that sends flowers here to the base now — he cuts her off, clearing his throat — Can you help me with that? —.

-Yeah! Oh, I know him. They will be delivered directly to your room at the base. Do you want them to include a note too? Oh God how romantic! — John massages his forehead and hears a busy sound on the other side, Laswell picks up the phone again —.

"Watch what you do, John."

—Thanks for the information, give my regards to Allie, as pleasant as always —.

-I'm watching you -.

—Bye Allie —.

Even though John furrows his eyebrows somewhat irritably, he's chuckling. He leaves the phone on the table and pats his forehead. How could he forget something so important? He couldn't forgive himself.

He finishes the paperwork he is organizing and leaves his office to his room to take a shower and change and goes to the nearest book store outside the base. That literally takes up most of the rest of the day.

Around ten o'clock, he sees a man arrive with a huge bouquet of daisy flowers and John hides behind the wall in panic. Close your eyes tightly.

It was just a twig Allie!

She watches him walk down the hall to Leah's room. He hides between the door and the wall watching as she opens the door and receives the gigantic bouquet of daisies.

John hits his forehead against the wall several times, cursing under his breath.

Then he sighs.

Although it's been too much he hopes Leah doesn't get angry or it seems like it's too much because it is…too much.

Fuck.

He shuffles into his office and picks up the gift-wrapped book on the table, jotting down a note and quickly writing something down. And he tips his hat to the reflection in his office windows. He adjusts his dark jacket and runs his fingers through his hair.

He sighs nervously, many feelings swirling inside him. Doubts about whether you're doing the right thing leave you when your phone vibrates with a message.

Leah C. Whatever, I'll be with the boys at the bar.

He looks at the message with a raised eyebrow. Maybe what Allie wrote on the flower bouquet card. Enough so that Leah wouldn't say thank you to him or something.

Shit.

He deserved the disdain.

John I left something for you in my office, stop by before you go to the bar.

Nothing else.

John puts the phone in his jacket pocket and steps out of the original taking one last look at the wrapped book and note. He walks out of the base and leans against the wall, pulling out a cigar. The night is starry for November, light your cigar and wait.

(…)

Arrange the flowers on the desk. He laughs as he cuts small cuttings to fit inside a glass bottle on top of the clothing cabinet near the bedroom window.

That's too many daisies. But it's the most romantic, dullest thing anyone has ever done for her in her life, ever, ever, and she doesn't know where to hide the goofy smile on her face.

He takes the card in his hands again, giggling.

"Because you are the most beautiful woman in the whole world, adorable, charming, sensitive and tender and all those things, happy birthday sweetheart. Atte: JP"

You didn't have to be a fortune teller to know it was Allie, she was the only one who called him sweetheart. And knowing that John had asked Allie, Kate's wife, for help was something that still had her numb. Because then it meant that he had told Laswell and now he understood why he wanted to see her in his office tomorrow.

Anyway, he decides to leave that for later and looks at himself in the mirror on the wall before leaving. She's wearing that baggy red dress with white circles, black stockings underneath, and a leather jacket on top. A red scarf around her neck and her blonde hair down. Even though it's winter it's not that cold anyway.

Silence drifts down the halls and you knock on the door to John's office, opening it carefully and being surprised to not see him there.

However, his desk lamp illuminates a picture object in the middle of the table. He gets close enough to lean over the table and see a small note folded in two with his name written in that messy but at the same time perfect handwriting that characterized John's.

She takes the note:

Happy birthday, Leah. I hope you like it. Price.

It was kind of bland, but it was Price. And that made her smile nervously as she put the note in her jacket pocket and took the package to unwrap it. Her mouth opened and she smiled as she revealed a book "Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë". He began to look through it and realized that it was an old edition, one of the first editions.

It couldn't be.

She took the book and went outside, when she came out into the open air outside the base she heard John's voice not far from her.

"Love blinds but you have to see how much you brighten the eyes," John murmured, blowing the smoke from his cigarette to the side when Leah looked at him. She smiled and approached John slowly — you look beautiful Leah, but walking like that is dangerous. You could get sick.

—It's okay—she shrugged her shoulders, looking at him—Why are you here? I thought I was going to see you at the bar.

-I was waiting for you -.

-Yeah? —.

John nods and throws the cigarette butt on the floor, stepping on it with the sole of his shoe. He looks around, making sure no one sees him, and puts his arm around Leah, pulling her close. Before she speaks John has his lips on Leah's, moving them slowly as she wraps her arms around his neck. Their tongues intertwine, they dance with each other.

"God, how I've missed you," he murmurs, kissing her slowly while breathing heavily.

"You've been in that office all day," she caresses his neck, behind his ears, "and last night you didn't go to sleep with me."

—I've had a lot to do, I'm sorry—John lowers his face into Leah's neck, kissing and licking as he moans hoarsely—but right now I need you so much—his hands on her back went down and lightly squeezed Leah's butt— this pretty dress Mmm — she nibbles on her neck — Can I fuck you with it? —.

An involuntary moan escapes Leah and she closes her mouth, opening her eyes, looking around.

—Mmm y-yes —.

"Yes," he grunts with relief, "but then," John moves away from her a little agitated, "now we're going to go somewhere."

-To the bar?

John shakes his head taking Leah's book in his hands.

"No, not to the bar."

—But the boys…

—They're not going to miss us — Leah takes her book, holding it to her chest — Did you like the flowers? —.

—How did you know I liked daisies? —he says with a mischievous smile as John shrugs his shoulders—.

"Look, I'm not going to lie to you, Allie helped me," he sighs, looking into her eyes a little scared, "I thought your birthday was next week, you can hate me if you want but I forgot." I'm not going to justify myself with work, it would be childish and I'm not.

—It's okay—he laughs—I understand John, nothing happens. Anyone can forget it.

—It won't happen again—he takes her hands—at least I remembered that you said that you always wanted to have a first edition of that book.

-You see? And I loved it — she kisses his cheeks — thank you.

—I'm going to make it up to you—he grabs her hand—Come—.

John drags her through the snow towards the parking lots, the front passenger of his truck helps her get in and starts the engine.

For a moment Leah looks at him not knowing what to say until she no longer wants to bite her lip.

—If you talked to Allie to…

"They know it, both of them." He looks at her out of the corner of his eye as he drives and Leah raises her eyebrows.

"Damn, that's why he wants to see me then," he tucks his hair behind his ears while looking out the window.

-Cup of tea? —.

—He wants me to go to the CIA tomorrow—they both look at each other—Did you tell him? —.

John shakes his head.

—I went to lunch with them last Saturday when you stayed at the base training the new ones and they read me like every day — he sighs, frowning — I guess I was too obvious or Allie is a witch —.

—I saw Allie on Saturday, I accompanied her shopping—they both look at each other again—.

John bursts out laughing as he moves the steering wheel with his hands. Leah bites her lips nervously.

—Well, it's okay — John put a hand on her legs — Do you want this to end? Are you worried that…? —.

"No," she almost screams, looking at him, "I don't want this to end," John Ma looks askance, trying to keep his eyes on the road, "I'm not worried about anything, I'll face it," he whispers.

—Leah…

-You are afraid? Do you want to finish it? —.

He shakes his head, tightening his fingers around her thigh.

"I don't want to," he whispers, "I don't want to be alone."

—You never will be, John—she keeps her gaze on him while he does it in a back-and-forth—.

He squeezes her thigh with his fingers and smiles slyly.

Several minutes later John parks the car on a street in London. He gets down to help Leah out and adjusts her jacket, pulling her to him for a kiss.

"You're very unsheltered," he murmurs against her lips. "Come here," he surrounds her waist with one of his hands, pressing her against him.

-Where you take me? —.

—You are a Yankee who spends most of her time at a base in London and who almost never goes out to the city to sightsee.

"But it's going to snow any minute," she looks up at him.

"That doesn't matter, doll, as long as you're with me nothing will happen to you." A hoarse laugh comes from her arms as she kisses the back of her head.

—And where are you taking me? —.

—The other day you told me that you had never been on the London Eye — he looks at her — now, you are on it — they turn down a street that stretches in front of them, surrounded by trees and Christmas lights and in the background the enormous and beautiful London Eye spinning so slowly with its lights and colors in the middle of the night.

"How cute he is," Leah squeals, raising her eyebrows.

—This time of year it's prettier, with the Christmas lights and all that —.

—Can we get on? - she asks excitedly -.

—Yes Leah, we can get on — John smiles and Leah grabs his hand and pulls him towards the London Eye.

(…)

—Look at the tower—Leah is pressed against the glass of the capsule while they rotate very slowly inside the Ferris Wheel—.

"That's Big Ben," John murmurs as if he were saying it to a little girl, he looks at her, resting his arm against the glass at his side and his other hand on Leah's back. "Seriously, Leah, how many years have you been here?" living in London and haven't gone out for a tour? —.

—Almost ten years—she looks out the window—I reached twenty here—.

"Yes, I remember," she looks at him, raising an eyebrow.

-Do you remember? —.

He reaches up to her back, brushing her hair away from her neck as he watches her curls fall down her back.

"No one could forget the beating that a rookie gave to Soap," he laughs.

"Yes," she laughs at the memory.

"But then you left with Laswell and didn't return after several years,"

—I liked working with her. But I love being on the base, the missions, the adrenaline — she leans on his shoulder — being with you.

—Mmm — he hugs her closer to him — yes, me too. It's been a long time since I… I didn't feel so well accompanied, you know?

-With me? You feel good with me? —she looks at him and John slides his lips over hers—.

"I love being with you," he whispers, "I don't feel alone Leah," John caresses her hair with one hand, slides his lips over hers, "I wish you would never leave me, you make this old man want to come back to life."

—John…

—You are so young and sweet… delicate and powerful that I feel like this is going to end in the blink of an eye and that I can't stop you. Because you're young and you should be sharing your time with someone your age and…

—I don't want anyone else—she furrows her eyebrows, making sure John looks her in the eyes—I'm not going anywhere. And if I'm going to separate from you it will be only while I wait for you to return to me after some mission or vice versa.

John's eyes are full of sorrow and anguish, fears that he is not able to let out. Because he's afraid that she really wants to leave.

Leah kisses him and smiles against his lips.

—Wait a minute, I have something else for you—John takes a small box out of his jacket pocket and puts it in Leah's small hands—open it.

Leah opens it with a goofy smile and then looks at it.

"John…" John takes the necklace from the box and unbuttons it.

“Turn around,” she does, brushing her hair to the side. John runs his hands over her shoulders, surrounding her neck with the thin chain of the necklace and adjusts it, he leans down to kiss the skin of her neck while she lets out a moan and turns around, touching the necklace with her fingers.

Margarita shines silver between her fingers as she looks at him with adoration.

"It's beautiful John."

He pulls her into his arms again.

"Happy birthday Leah," he whispers against her lips.

She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him passionately as they spin on the Ferris Wheel.

(…)

—Shhh… — Leah murmurs as John kisses her against the wall outside her room — wait… — John hugs her from behind, his fingers eagerly shoved under her dress, tugging at her dark stockings — John…

-Hmm… -.

The task of opening the key is difficult when the big, tough man is carelessly handling it. But he finally manages to open the door. However, she can't get in when John grabs her hand and pushes her against the wall, grabbing one of her legs to put it around him while rubbing against her hips.

He kisses her with passion and hunger. All he has done from a certain point in his life is overcome any feelings he has, burying them deep inside. But with her he can't, with her he can't hide and he knows that he won't be able to continue doing it any longer.

He pulls away for a moment to look at her lips, lets his hands move to her neck and brings her to his mouth again. He wraps his arms around her pressing her against the wall and kisses her with desperate hunger.

His hands slide down her back and he buries his hands in her butt, pressing her against him while rubbing against her hips.

"I want you Leah," he murmurs against her ear, leaving a trail of saliva from his kisses along her neck. "She searches his face, responding forcefully, moaning against her mouth." You keep moaning like this, I'm going to cum in my pants, doll. " he growls, nibbling on her neck.

Leah's laughter fills the room as John picks her up and lays her on the bed with him on top of her, kissing her as he moves down her neck and caresses her breasts over her dress.

"Girl in red," she moans, lowering her mouth down her belly, "pretty white polka dots," she moans as she continues to go down and John lifts the dress from her hips to her belly, kissing her exposed skin, "let's get rid of this, okay?" — pulls her panties and stockings down her legs while still kissing the flesh. He takes off her boots and slides between her thighs again.

—J-John… — Leah clings to the sheets when John buries himself between her thighs, tasting her, moaning against her vaginal lips while he licks, bites and kisses her —.

Sensual sounds escape Leah's lips as he kisses her between her legs, rubbing his thick fingers around her clit as Leah loses control of herself.

—Mmmm honey — she moans while she feels that he is about to cum just from giving her pleasure — Fuck Leah — Leah trembles, her hand stops on John's head while her hips move against his mouth — mmm yes honey, you know delicious, shit.

Leah screams, a sensual scream that fills the room. John feels the taste of his orgasm in his mouth and moans as if he can't take it anymore. And as Leah tries to snap out of her trance she sits up, John's hips in front of her eyes as she pushes him off the bed.

—Leah W-what? —his voice dies in his throat when he sees her unbuckle his belt—.

Since they've been dating Leah has only had one thing on her mind. She has never had a cock in her mouth and having John's or imagining it has made her wet several times a day or night just thinking about it.

John trembles as she drops his pants and pulls down his underwear releasing his thick, long penis as she massages it in her small hands.

—L-Leah… — John's voice falters when he sees her open her mouth and closes her eyes, leaning her head against her back — Damn… —.

Leah licks him from the tip to the end as if he were ice cream, she has never done it with anyone before but her instinct and desire leads her to moan against his skin and veins.

"You have to tell me if I'm doing it right," he murmurs, kissing the tip of his penis while one of his hands goes up and down it.

—Y-you don't have to… you have to…

—I want to do it John —she opens her lips putting the tip in her mouth—I don't know if I can do it all but you have to practice…

John laughs as if his nerves betrayed him. And Leah licks it, taking it as much as she can into her mouth and the sensation makes her moan.

—Mmm Leah…

—Mmm… —he helps himself with one hand while he covers the rest with his mouth, licks and sucks with his eyes half closed over and over again—.

—M-doll… — John slides a hand under his chin, caressing his cheeks without looking — fuck… fuck… —.

-I do it well? — Leah murmurs quickly putting it back in her mouth, John moans and looks down at her, those huge eyes looking at him with his cock in her mouth makes him lose his mind. So he lifts her up carefully, kissing her desperately - But…

—You'll do it another day, hell I want to fuck you now Leah — he turns her against her back and pushes her slowly against the bed, she puts her hands and knees against the bedspread and John leans down kissing her neck — Can I fuck you in the doll dress ? Tell me yes, I'm begging you - he nibbles on his ear -.

"Please John."

John moans in response, pulling away slightly so he can kiss her back and nibble on her ass before fitting his cock between her folds and pushing into her slowly until he opens up just enough for him to hear her moan loudly.

—Are you okay, honey? —he murmurs, caressing her legs. She nods her face against the quilt, but John lifts her against his back. He takes off his shirt — you're so beautiful Leah — he moves his hips back and forth, his body panting, his chest purring for her — always so tight…

—Oh John…

The beats of his heart match, equalize as he kisses her neck and pushes against her in sensual movements.

—Mmmm—he moans loud and hoarse as he bites her ear and neck, leaving slight marks on her white skin. Her body moving against him in a constant rhythm.

John Price takes his time taking her, feeling her breasts in his hands as he grinds her against him, but feeling this animal instinct when he pushes her down, lifting her ass as her dress sways in front of him.

He rolls the fabric between his fingers and tugs at it as he pushes against her hips, moaning and softly exclaiming almost obscene words that mix with Leah's moans. He pulls away to turn her around, he needs to see her pretty face while he fucks her and grabs her, her hips and kisses her, sweat runs down his body and Leah's gestures make him lose his sanity. She drags her nails down John's back making his skin ripple and he groans.

They are a mass of sweat and skin and the dress is lying somewhere in the room as they move against each other.

Several minutes later John is spread out on the bed with one arm across his chest. Eyes glued to the ceiling, open as he tries to find his own breath. Leah is with her head on his chest, making movements with her fingers on John's chest.

"Happy birthday," he says barely in a whisper. His voice exhausted but still full of humor. The girl laughs and hugs him tighter.

Their eyelids become heavy and little by little they both fall completely asleep. The room is dark, the light from the street spotlights far beyond is all illuminated through the dark windows.

It starts to snow… and their breaths meet in the room, arms wrapped around warm bodies clinging to each other, like two pieces of a puzzle.

[treason-and-plot]

“Do you like your dinner, Dad?” asks Henrietta. “I helped Apollo cook it. I’m very, very good at cooking, you know!”

“I’m sure you are, Princess,” says Roy while Henrietta’s sisters make scoffing noises and roll their eyes. Why anyone would prefer to eat slices of pale, insipid veal over a juicy piece of rib-eye steak is beyond Roy’s comprehension. He supposes the dish that’s in front of him could have been a lot worse, though- it could have been served with a mushroom sauce. One should always be grateful for small mercies.

“Hey, guess what?” he says, looking around the table. “Something really exciting happened today!”

Violet smiles at him.

“I got Harrison Steiner a six-figure sponsorship deal with Herbalife!” Roy says. Violet’s smile stiffens.

“Who’s Harrison Steiner?” says Joanna.

“He plays soccer with the Bridgeport Eels,” says Angus.

“That’s right, Son,” says Roy. “He’s only just turned eighteen, and already the world's his oyster. All thanks to my business acumen, expert negotiating tactics and extensive networking skills!”

“He’s also super-fast, has incredible mastery of the ball and is a machine when it comes to kicking goals,” says Angus.

“Well, okay, that too,” shrugs Roy.

“Actually, that’s not our only exciting news,” says Violet, putting down her knife and fork. “Would you like to tell everyone what else happened today, Roy?”

“Why don’t you tell them?" says Roy, stabbing at his veal. “Seeing as you were the one lucky enough to receive the phone call.”

“Okay,” says Violet. “This afternoon the people who are looking after your mother rang me, and they said we’re all allowed to go and visit her tomorrow! Isn’t that fantastic?”

The girls exchange glances.

“What’s wrong?” says Roy.

“We don’t want to go to a mental hospital,” says Alexandra. “It sounds scary.”

“It’s not a hospital, it’s a treatment facility,” says Violet. “It’s a lovely old country house surrounded by beautiful lawns and oak trees. Your father’s been there to visit people lots of times, haven’t you Roy?”

“Yeah, that’s right. In fact, your own Grandma's been a patient there!” says Roy. “As well as Freddie and at least a dozen more of my clients. You know, they should name a wing after me after all the business I’ve sent their way. Or at least offer me some type of discount. But instead they can't even offer me the courtesy of a phone call. Anyway, to answer your question, Alex, it’s not a scary place at all. Quite the opposite, in fact.” He hate-chews his last sliver of veal and pushes his chair back. “I don’t mean to break up the party, but I’ve got to go and see Anya soon, so can you all cut the chit-chat and eat a bit quicker so we can fit in a game of kicky bag or something before I have to race off?”

[karskilledme]

Adore - Mista x Reader

Hi, I've never written for Mista, but I love him, so this was born. Thanks. Reader and Mista are on a mission when an Oh No! happens.

.

Warnings: Fighting (Not overly violent), Ouchies, Religion, Female reader, not proofread, bad writing.

Words: 1230

Brief reader stand description: It's called Two of Hearts, it's a humanoid stand with heart-shaped armor plates on its breasticles and crotch region. It's red when it's in Hot Love mode and pink when it's in Tender Care mode(Which won't be seen here this is just my go to reader stand lol). In Hot Love mode it burns things it touches and is a physical fighter with moderate strength. Most of it's damage is through the burns rather than the hits. Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

Just another mission. Tonight was supposed to be an easy one. Two targets, neither stand users, against me and Mista. We worked well as a team due to our “natural chemistry” as Bucciarati called it. It’s true that we’re good friends and that our stands seem to mesh well together but, there was more to it than that. To put it simply, I wanted to be adored by him the way I loved him. His gleaming dark eyes, goofy and sweet personality, the way he couldn’t stand the number four, and his unique sense of style. There was so much about him that I adored and lately, it was to the point of making it hard to focus on missions. All I could hope is that tonight I’d actually be able to focus.

Under the cover of the night Mista and I slinked through the final alleyway connecting to the target's hideout. Considering intel said they weren’t stand users our tactic was to barge right in and get the answers we needed. We approached the door and I called out my stand, Two of Hearts. I used her Hot Love to melt through the door's industrial-grade lock and gently pushed it open.

“Impressive hot mama.” Mista said, faking a burn with an accompanying hiss. 

I feigned disgust, “Hot mama, really?” I questioned. He smirked before returning to serious business and peered around the corner, gun at the ready, before motioning us to move in.

A shiver rolled up my spine as we entered the quiet hideout. Mista seemed to sense something was off as well as he motioned for me to move in close to him. He knew I could handle myself in battle but insisted that it was just the gentlemanly thing to do. 

“Somethings not right here.” I said with a shudder. Mista nodded and moved closer to the next room. I followed closely behind before covering on the opposite side of the door as he swung it open like we had moments before. In an instant gunfire broke loose, not from Mista at first but he quickly returned it. “Shit!” He hissed out motioning me back.

I was about to protest and aid in his battle when the door we came through was bust down. A mysterious woman appeared in the clearing dust and it didn’t seem like she was friendly. 

“Who are you? Name your business or face Passione.” I barked. 

The woman grinned and without a word lept towards me and Two of Heats. Wetness. I panicked internally as I felt the moisture in her air and then externally as I saw her stand immerge, my biggest weakness, water. Two of Hearts sizzled as she commanded water from her palms like some kind of Avatar scene. My body rang out in pain as I took the full blast unprepared. Without much choice, since Mista was still finishing up his own battle, I pulled out my pocket knife. With Two of Hearts now called back I rushed head-on, dodging what water I could and choking on what I couldn’t. I managed to land a slash or two in the chaos of it all but it was clear this wasn’t a fight I couldn’t take on alone.

“Mista- fuck, help! This bitch is wet!” I choked out, coughing on more of her attacks. 

The woman laughed at me “Awh, you’re useless against me, how sad.”. 

Mista fired off another two rounds and snapped back towards me. “Shit! Coming!” he said, hurrying in my direction. 

I was ripped back to attention as the woman grabbed me and began drowning me in her stand. I struggled to slash at her but it was useless. Mista couldn’t get a shot in at the risk of shooting me too. “What will you do now, gunslinger? Your little girlfriend here is gonna drown. Oh no!” She said in her mockingly sweet voice. My vision began to fade black, his response was indiscernible as I faded out. This was it.

~

“Lord, please if I’ve any good graces wake up my sweet bambina. I need her. I love her more than pizza and Pretty Woman. I’d even face…f-four for her!” Everything was still hard to discern besides the very apparent soreness in my chest and throat. It took everything I had just to open my eyes. When I did I was greeted with the hunched-over and praying figure of Mista next to the bed I lay on. His hat was off, revealing the messy mop of dark brown curls that I loved so much. He was going on about… me? I must’ve gotten pretty messed up. It certainly feels so. “Mista.” I whispered in a hoarse voice. His head snapped up and that’s when I could see the red hue surrounding his dark eyes. My heart broke to think he’d been so torn up about me but it was quickly patched up when his smile illuminated me. “(Y/N)! I’m so glad you’re tough! You almost died, dummy!” He cheered out, wrapping me in a hug. 

He was warm and comforting, his musky cologne smelt so familiar and safe. Before I knew it tears began to overflow faster than I could stop them. I hugged back as tight as my injured body would allow. “I’m so glad you’re here. I really thought I died too! I hope you beat that bitch up so bad.” I said sobbing. 

Mista laughed and pulled back to look at me. “God, I adore you. You’re so funny even when you’re all banged up.” He said ruffling my already ratty hair. My heart soared but my brain screamed even more. “Don’t say things like that unless you mean um, tease.” I pouted. 

Mista smiled and seemed to start to speak but closed his mouth again. I could feel the warmth of his breath tickling me now, his hands on my shoulders were suddenly molting hot. Slowly his face inched closer to mine and soon his lightly chapped lips met mine. For what an obnoxious flirt he was the kiss was softer than cashmere and lighter than clouds as if he were afraid he’d break me. It lasted for only a few short seconds before he pulled back till we were nose to nose. 

“I’m no teaser, I’m a truther.” He said with a devious grin on his lips. 

I scoffed and pushed him back playfully. “Way to ruin a cute moment big dorkface.” 

He laughed, his face scrunching into a charming smile. It felt relieving to have our feelings out in the open like this. “I’m really glad you like me back… this big fat crush was starting to mess with me on missions.” I said, combing my hair back with one hand.

Mista sat on the foot of the bed and rested a hand on my leg. “We could all tell. You’ve kind of sucked lately.”

I scowled at his joke and crossed my arms. “You wish you were as good as me!”

He cheesed at me and rubbed a soothing rhythm on my leg. “Just joking principessa. I’m glad too… that you like me I mean.” He paused and looked around briefly. “Can we ya know, kiss again?” His cheeks dusted red. With a giggle, I sat up to meet him and caressed his cheek. I leaned in first this time and met him for another kiss.

[wormholxtreme]

@ppctts | For More Peppy Stuff

The last few months Happy had felt lost without her by his side. The heartbreak he felt when yet another attempt at saying their vows was ruined, this time not by some villain hoping to crash the super star-studded event but by Pepper herself running from the church.

He knew the time spent in Pennsylvania, the time spent with his mother was trying, but he never thought she'd leave him standing dumbfounded at the alter. Maybe the crowd was too much. Maybe she was just worried about another attack. There were any number of reasons she needed a moment but that didn't mean she didn't want him right?

At least that's what he thought when he pulled the car around and told her to jump in. Only Pepper didn't say the words he wanted to hear. Instead, all of her worries poured out like a volcano. Every reason they shouldn't be together, ranging from their work to the fact they'd lost so much just trying to keep in each other's arms. Nothing they did ever changed the outcome and in her mind, the outcome was they were not meant to be together.

Happy knew better. He knew there were no guarantees in this life but it's those little moments that brought happiness and peace that were worth fighting for. Come Monday she'd realize her mistake and come running back to him.

Only she didn't. And who was there to pick up the pieces in the wake of their ruined wedding but the one and only Tony Stark. He saw them grow closer in the weeks after the wedding. He saw how she dotted on him, how she watched over him. There wasn't much that set Happy off, but Tony, despite their friendship, was a point of contention in his relationship with Pepper. And the fact that Tony knew about the miscarriage before Happy even knew about the baby's existence, cut like a knife in his chest.

It took him time to come to terms with Pepper's decisions. He didn't agree with them, but he knew her better than most. Every decision she made was always right in her heart even if it wasn't right in the aftermath. And for the first time, he showed her how hurt he was. He showed her the side of him he kept hidden away. Not as a tactic, but as a way to fight for her love.

And now they were back at work, giving each other side smiles, the secret of their affair only meant for each other at this point in time. Well, each other, and their couple's therapist.

Happy held the door open for her, nodding with a slight smile. He leaned over her shoulder as she passed. "Good Morning Mrs. Hogan." he whispered politely in her ear. "What's on the agenda for today?"

[imnotagaslighter]

Chapter One: Sly as a Snake

Word Count: 2.9K

Warnings: Tread carefully this will be a dark!fic Please DNI if you're not 18 or older

Blood, Graphic, Minor Character Deaths, Age Gap, Lloyd Hansen being creepy, Hints of Grooming (?)

I was going to do a cute little preview but I just thought why not just post a whole chapter as a preview!! I hope you guys enjoy ;).

It didn’t take long for the gala-themed party to be halted but that’s because who wouldn’t want to? A party that held all of the families under one luxurious, (and in your opinion very flamboyant) mansion. It wasn’t until a very loud breach from the main entrance took your attention away from the attendees in front of you.

You and maybe the rest of the families at the party stood in confusion and shock as men in tactical gear rushed through the main banquet hall firing automatic weapons into the air and at random important heads of different gang families. That’s when screams and weapons began to go toe to toe on who could be the loudest. It didn’t make it any better that you had lost your brother and parents within the crowds that were moving in different directions trying to dodge the bullets.

Your heart was slightly racing as you felt yourself being pushed by the various people trying to run out of the hall and hopefully find an exit, but your mind had other ideas. Moving towards the wall you’d slip into a room before closing the door behind yourself and slouching down onto the opposite wall of the door. Your hands were shaking as you tried to regain your composure, it didn’t make it any better that you were wearing a floor-length dress accompanied by heels that were not ideal for running.

Another round of shots rang out into the air before holes started to appear on the wall and you’d quickly roll onto the stomach hoping none of the shots were aimed toward the floor. Knowing you’d have to think (and move) quickly you began to untie the laced-up heels and kick them off before looking around, you were in the preparation kitchen so it wouldn’t be hard to find something to cut the dress. Your right hand instinctively reached up to your inner right thigh to find your gun still holstered there and you pulled it out. Sliding the mag out of the barrel you saw the clip was full and of course, you didn’t bring an extra clip because you just wouldn’t think someone would have it out for the families so bad to the point where they’d target all of the families under one roof. Which you couldn’t help to admit was smart but very ballsy and you couldn’t help to figure out who was the mind behind all of this terror.

Finding a chef’s knife you held it just above the knee of your dress and you’d hesitate, hating the fact that you’d have to ruin such a beautiful (and rather expensive) dress but you had to get out and find your parents. You’d attempt to cut through the fabric and it was louder than usual meaning outside was quiet and you’d stop quickly to listen.

“I heard something in the kitchen. You three go in there and see what it is” You heard an oddly familiar voice before you looked around for a place to exit and the only thing you could think of was the dumbwaiter on the other side of the room. You knew you couldn’t make it over there in time so you’d finish ripping the dress apart grab the knife and scurry across the floor toward an empty shelf and you’d bring your knees to your chest and turn the safety to your gun off.

Three men in tactical gear breached through the door and looked around slowly as they proceeded further into the room picked up the fabric of the dress and saw the heels.

“Boss, someone was in here and ditched their clothes.” One of them yelled back before looking around the room. You were praying that they couldn’t see your legs but you knew sooner or later you would have to make a move.

‘Well, Fucking find the naked bitch before I have to come in there and do the job myself!’ You heard the ever-familiar voice shout back.

“Come on, she couldn’t have gotten far in here, there’s no exit.” One of the soldiers said as he turned around and closed the door to check if there was a body behind them. You knew if you used your gun it would draw more attention to yourself and you didn’t have enough bullets to fight the whole army that was outside of the kitchen so you knew whatever move you’d make would have to be with the knife that was thankfully still in your hand.

Moving from out of the shelf you’d tiptoe over to the guard that was near the door and you’d slam the knife down into his neck and cover his mouth so he wouldn’t make noise to alert the other two in the kitchen with you, you were lucky the industrial and professional kitchen was set up in aisles so they couldn’t see your body unless they walked around. 

The soldier struggled, voice gurgling under your hand as you strained to move the man to his knees so that when he toppled over it wouldn’t be as hard, and he finally gave out, his body went limp as you pulled the knife out, blood squirting on your face before moving to the other two. As long as you could get to them before they circled back to the door it would be okay in a sense.

Your feet move behind each other in a cat-like motion and you see the second assailant checking under shelves and the third one is moving pots and pans around making enough noise for you to make your play. You take that opportunity to run up to him and proceed to shank him around 7 times, groans leaving his mouth before he falls back blood pooling around him and soaking your feet. You’d feel the cold wet sensation and would mentally roll your eyes at the situation before throwing your knife at the last person’s head and he’d topple over. Hearing the kitchen still, you’d hear the conversation going on outside between the familiar voice and you’d move over to the door and listen in.

‘Jesus fucking Christ! What’s taking these doofuses so long to find the whore?’ The man would ask impatiently as you’d hear the chamber of the unknown person’s gun slide back and you’d move towards one of the ARs the dead person had and you’d take the mags that came with it and move into the bellhopper. You slid the door up, slipping into the tight box and your arm reached out to hit the up button, and almost as soon as you closed the sliding door for the bell hopper you heard the door to the kitchen being kicked open.

‘What the fuck?! You know what?’ The person would chuckle ever so slightly before you heard his echoing footsteps approach the bell hopper which made you nervous because if it was still moving by the time he opened the door he’d know you were in there.

‘I gotcha you little bitch’

-

2 Months Prior

‘You know it wouldn’t be all that bad if you would just put your pride aside and just go on the date Your twin brother would say as your hazel eyes glared across the longer dinner table where you’d be eating breakfast.

There wasn’t much to this schedule it was something new where your mother would accompany you and your brother at breakfast. She sat near the head silently chuckling at the banter the two of you always managed to find yourselves in while she was eating a crepe with a bowl of fresh fruit from her garden.

‘Y’know what, Kaleb? If you want me to meet this man so bad..’ You had emphasized before grabbing your napkin and placing it in your lap. ‘How about you take my place and go on the date with him’ You’d offer the new opportunity and Kaleb looked at you with a rather contorted face before your mother’s laugh was a little more noticeable and Kaleb’s head snapped in her direction before you continued with your pancakes.

‘Oh so the first time in ages that our mother comes down here and one of the first things she does is patronize me because I’m trying to help my sister secure a husband since she’d freshly out of finishing school’ Kaleb would say before you’d shake your head in protest.

‘Kaleb, I simply don’t want a husband for now, and until father says anything about it I don’t think it is necessary as of now.’

‘But, Y/N you have men from families all over practically throwing their sons at your feet every gala we attend. Don’t you think you’re being a little pretentious?’ Kaleb would ask as you gave him a deadpan look. We sat in a very lavish dining room of a 10-bedroom mansion near the oceanside, our father was the head of a great mob family and he thought you were only being a little pretentious was a stretch.

‘Look at how we were raised, Kaleb then ask yourself why I’m being a little pretentious’ 

A soft clearing of a throat had brought your attention to the entrance of the doorway and you’d see your father, donning something other than a suit. He was wearing grey slacks and a white button-down.

‘Isn’t it nice to see my family down here eating together?’ your father would ask before reaching down to kiss your forehead and walking around to grab Kaleb’s shoulders.

‘I suppose it is Dad, which means you have something you need to tell us.’ You’d say eyeing the man and he could only chuckle.

‘Well you are my daughter and there’s no denying that, but nothing too much out of the ordinary. The Solos will be accompanying us to dinner this evening though. Jacoby and I have some business to discuss so I trust you three will be more than entertaining to our guests’ Your father, Issac Beckett would say and you would purse your lips together acknowledging that that was the conversation he was meaning to have. It was rare that your family held company though but it was understandable as to why.

Within the past 4 months, you’ve attended 7 funerals, each one of them had Beckett as their last name, you weren’t sure if the family was being targeted by an outsider but whoever it was was indeed trying to get within the immediate family. It hasn’t been easy for them though because your father’s long-time friend and right-hand man, Lysander Reed, and Luitenant Lloyd Hansen have kept the mansion and its grounds secure. Of course, with someone like Issac Beckett, there would be a lot of enemies made and that’s why he has allies like the Solo family. They still weren’t able to pinpoint a motive or who could be the mastermind behind all of these family murders but since the third one, your father had pulled you from your etiquette academy to ensure your safety and made sure all of the immediate family was under one roof which you guessed wasn’t so bad.

Your mother, Ceanna (pronounced Sienna) was more than ecstatic to see her children under one roof again. Your brother, Kaleb had left off to finish his studies to one day prepare to take over the reigns of the family’s name. But you, you were a different case, a special case.

You’ve protested for years to be more than someone’s wife and bearer of fruitful children. To be more than someone’s arm candy and despite your parent’s disapproval you were enrolled into multiple academies to broaden your skillset, being taught by Lysander how to fight, handle a gun, and be able to hold yourself to those bigger than you, and you proved them to be more than proficient - A prodigy Lloyd would say as he’d spar with you on occasion. Once you felt you were proficient enough your father enrolled you in finishing school where you learned etiquette and social cues to enter society as a woman fit to be a loving wife and also as sly and deadly as a snake.

Your hair was pulled back into a low ponytail as you looked down at your plate and continued to eat your breakfast, pancakes, and eggs which were growing soggy from the amount of syrup you piled onto the plate. 

‘The Solos are the ones with the son, right my love?’ Your mother, Ceanna would ask as your father nodded and moved over towards his wife, planting a kiss on his cheek before sitting down at the head of the table.

‘Yes, Napoleon is their only son. A little older but that still shouldn’t be a problem for our children, right?’ 

‘Leon? I haven’t seen him since we were both in school. Don’t worry I’m sure we can catch up.’

‘As long as you don’t auction me off as a wife to him’ You’d mutter while eating your food and your dad would belt out a laugh while Lysander would make his way into the room saying his greetings to everyone. Lysander had been there long before you and Kaleb were born so on occasion if you didn’t refer to him as Lys, uncle was for mere private times behind the walls of their home which Lysander didn’t mind coming from the twins, he was there for everything and within Issac’s will if anything were to happen to him and Ceanna while the twins were under 25 Lysander would be their ward and be the right hand for Kaleb.

‘I’m sure Napoleon wouldn’t meet your father’s expectations for your husband anyways, Y/N’ Lysander would say before you made a small victory cheer in your head. You hadn’t heard much about this Napoleon character but that’s because your father tends to leave you and your mother out of mob business and she doesn’t mind, but you? Oh, you made it a problem that you were left out of meetings, wanting to know the ins and the outs of the business and how to run it. Your father always says that this path holds no position for a woman, very misogynistic but you weren’t sure on why he would always make that statement.

‘The boy is far too into his bachelor lifestyle to settle down now, especially when there’s no sign of Caspian kicking the bucket over any time soon.’ Your dad would say before Lysander leaned over to whisper something in your dad’s ear and he’d nod.

‘Change of plans, they’ll be coming over for a late lunch and dinner, Y/N I trust you won’t be wearing that?’ Your dad would ask referring to your current pajamas which were an oversized plain black shirt and black and grey flannel shorts.

‘Jesus Dad, I just woke up.’ You’d say defensively before stabbing your fork in the remainder of the pancakes shoving it in your mouth and standing up from the table.

‘Since it’s that much of a problem I will go shower and put on clothes.’

‘Appropriate clothes, Y/N. We will be having guests’ Your Dad responded not looking up from the newspaper that was now in his hand. Your eyes narrowed before you took the glass of orange juice with you and turned on your heels to head out of the dining room.

‘Can I invite Elise and Arabelle?’ You’d ask quickly turning around and your dad matched your narrow eyes but yours instantly turned into pleading eyes.

‘Dad! Kaleb and Napoleon will be in each other's faces the whole time! I’ll make sure they’ll leave before dinner. I promise’ You pleaded before your father looked down at the gold watch before looking over to Lysander.

‘Y/N does have a point, Issac. Lloyd is still on the grounds as well.’ Lysander would say attempting to help your case while sending a wink your way and with a long sigh coming from your father he’d place the newspaper down.

‘See to it that the pool is prepared for the girls and the pool house. Have the chef prepare lunch for them as well.’ Your father reluctantly said before you started cheesing and heading over towards your old man and kissed him on his cheek as well as Lysander’s and you scurried away before he had the chance to change his mind.

Pulling your phone out from your waistband you’d open up the group chat that had you, Elise, and Arabelle in it before sending a single pool emoji with a question mark.

Elise: Uh, Duh!

Arabelle: We’ll be there in 30!

Successfully making plans to occupy yourself you’d scurry to the stairs running past Lloyd and he’d eye you.

‘Why are you running like you've seen a ghost princess?’ Lloyd would say while shooing the other guards away and you’d turn at the first step to face him. It wasn’t a bad age gap between you two, maybe 10 or 12 years? His profession aged him more than he was. The mid-30s weren’t bad for him.

‘Dad let me invite the girls over so I’m trying to get ready before he changes his mind’ 

‘He must be in a good mood, well I won’t hold you up. You look gorgeous this morning by the way.’ He’d say but it went over your head, ever since he’d started working for your dad around 4 years ago he’d always been the one to compliment you. It was nothing out of the ordinary. Giving him a small smile you’d hand him your almost finished glass of orange juice.

‘Thanks Lloyd! Do you mind putting that in the sink please?’ You’d asked before racing up the steps on your hands and knees

‘Anything for you princess.’ Lloyd would whisper low enough only for him to hear before finishing off the orange juice and licking his bottom lip before heading to the kitchen.